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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822391">Mortal Trust or Faery Dust</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingLassie/pseuds/DancingLassie'>DancingLassie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Brief mention of past rape, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fae &amp; Fairies, Fickle Faeries, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier plays to his strengths, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kidnapped Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kidnapping, M/M, Midsummer, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love, but he gets there in the end, but not involving Geralt or Jaskier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:07:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingLassie/pseuds/DancingLassie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Have you seen Geralt this morning?”</i>
</p><p>  <i>“Who?” the man asked, perplexed. </i></p><p>  <i>“Geralt, the witcher,” Jaskier elaborated. </i></p><p>  <i>“We haven’t seen any witchers,” the man looked genuinely puzzled.</i></p><p>  <i>“I arrived with him yesterday.  He took care of your nekker problem.”</i></p><p>  <i>“Nekker problem?”  Was the man daft?  “It was just you who came in yesterday.  With your horse.  Are you feeling alright, Master Bard?”  The man had the audacity to look at Jaskier as if he was the mad one. </i></p><p>When Geralt disappears after an argument, no one in the small village they're in seems to remember him.  Except Jaskier and an old woman with a chilling secret.  </p><p>Someone always disappears at this time of year, and no one remembers they ever existed in the morning.  The Fair Folk steal them away and they are never seen again.  </p><p>Until now.  Jaskier refuses to leave Geralt to his fate.  He <i>will</i> get him back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>610</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Over Hill, Over Dale</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, this is my entry for the Geraskier Midsummer Minibang!  It's my first time ever doing an event like this and it's been really fun and exciting.  A huge thank you to the wonderful organisers!</p><p>I also need to give a huge thank you to my wonderful beta <a href="https://willowherbgardens.tumblr.com/">Willowherb</a> for not telling me where to shove it when I sent them 52 pages of fic and asked them to work their magic on it!</p><p>Finally, I'd like to introduce my extremely talented artist <a href="https://help-idontknowwhattodraw.tumblr.com/">Aro</a> who went above and beyond the requirements to create some truly stunning artwork for this fic.  It's been amazing to work with her!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Hanna knows she shouldn’t be here.  Her mum would give her a good wallop if she knew Hanna had slipped away.  She’s supposed to be cleaning the silver in the dining room, but she can’t resist sneaking upstairs for a peek.  The lady of the house has given birth to a baby boy, the rumours all said.  A new little lordling. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The lord is ecstatic.  Other servants spoke of how devoted he is to his little heir, finding any excuse to drop into the nursery to gaze upon his firstborn.  They say the lord is going to bring the baby with him on his next ride round the villages, to show him off to the local peasantry.  Hanna just wants to see the baby before her older siblings.  It will be something to brag about.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, Hanna hadn’t complained when her mum, a maid in the lord’s grand house, dragged her to work with her and set her to polishing.  Important guests are arriving every day to see the baby and the servants are working flat out.  Hanna is soon left unsupervised.  She drops her rag, rubs her hands as clean as she can on her dirty apron and creeps upstairs to the nursery.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It is a beautiful little room.  Its walls are painted a pale blue and light green curtains flutter in the breeze at an open window.  A handsome wooden crib stands in the middle of the floor, decorated with hand carved vines, flowers and fruits.  Hanna’s attention is focused solely on the chubby little baby lying peacefully asleep, bundled up in beautifully embroidered blankets. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s never been so close to a newborn before.  She is the youngest of seven and her older siblings never let her forget it.  What fun it would be to have a little brother or sister to order about.  She reaches in carefully to stroke one rather grubby finger down the child’s rosy cheek.  Do all babies have such soft skin?  Such little noses?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The baby coos softly, and his delicate eyelashes flutter open.  Blue eyes regard her as best they can, struggling to focus on her.  He gurgles good naturedly and Hanna is enchanted.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She doesn't notice when the door opens behind her, or when a tall figure comes to stand beside her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“He’s a charmer, isn’t he?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hanna whirls around to see the lord standing next to her, grinning conspiratorially.  She drops into a hasty curtsey, heart pounding a frantic beat in her chest.  Her mum is going to kill her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry, sir.  I didn’t mean to cause trouble, sir.  I just wanted to see the baby, sir.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And who could blame you,” the lord grins and bends to scoop his son into his arms, raising the baby to kiss his face.  “Such a handsome lad.  He’ll charm all the girls when he’s older.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hanna does not know what else to do, so she nods in agreement.  Standing on tiptoe to get a better look at the boy nestled in his father’s arms.  “He’s beautiful.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Quite right,” the lord winks at her.  “And don’t worry, this meeting will be our secret.  You're Lydia’s girl, aren’t you?  How old are you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes, sir.  Ten, sir.  Thank you, sir.  Sir?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hmmm?”  He’s carefully lowering his precious bundle back into the crib.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s his name?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, my lady and I are debating that, but I rather think he looks like a Julian.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sighed and ceased his strumming on the lute.  Geralt, it seemed, was in an even worse mood today than yesterday.  It was all that sorceress’ fault.  She’d swanned in, turned Geralt’s head, fucked him senseless for a few weeks before ultimately fucking him over and leaving without a backwards glance.  Which had happened yesterday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would normally be more sympathetic to his friend’s plight, except Geralt fell for the witch’s manipulations over and over and </span>
  <em>
    <span>over</span>
  </em>
  <span> again.  There was a saying or something that seemed appropriate: ‘Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice…’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Geralt was proving himself the fool of fools at this rate and Jaskier sighed the weary sigh of the overlooked companion.  It never seemed to matter what he did for Geralt, what he offered every day; Geralt never seemed to notice.  He chased endlessly after the impossible Yennefer, trying to force them into something resembling a normal relationship, while seemingly forgetting about Jaskier’s existence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was absurd that he hadn’t left Geralt yet, but he’d never really been attracted to wholesome, easy things.  If he had, he’d have stayed at home in Lettenhove and taken on his father’s responsibilities. Instead, he’d declared his younger brother heir and run off to be a travelling bard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it wouldn’t hurt Geralt to show a bit more appreciation of his loyal (and heartsick)  friend.  It might be easier if Geralt in some way acknowledged Jaskier’s feelings.  There were plenty of polite ways to hint to someone that you were flattered but not interested.  Plenty of less polite ones too, come to that.  But Geralt didn’t even seem to be aware of Jaskier’s affections and the bard had hardly been subtle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yennefer certainly knew, if the sly glances and snide comments she threw his way were anything to go by.  He had met her type before.  She found Geralt even more appealing once she realised there was someone else who wanted but couldn’t have him.  She enjoyed rubbing it in that she could, and that Geralt was desperate to have her.  Jaskier hated her, partly because it felt better than envying her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it, Jaskier?”  Geralt stopped so abruptly in front of him, where he’d been leading Roach, that Jaskier almost ran into him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he asked in confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been sighing loudly for the last ten minutes.  Either spit it out or stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, sorry,” he held up his hands.  “I’ll stop.  Where are we even going anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Away,” Geralt snapped, and continued moving forwards.  Which meant he didn’t have a clear destination in mind; he just wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and the last town where Yennefer had dumped him.  Again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ahh,” Jaskier huffed sarcastically.  “How very specific.”  Geralt ignored him and Jaskier fumed silently as he took in the forest around them.  Something about it made him very uneasy.  The soft downy hair on the back of his neck rose unbidden as a shiver worked its way down his spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something through the trees caught his eye and he stopped to peer at it.  Off in the distance the land started rising upwards to form a small hill.  At the top of the hill stood several large stones.  He didn’t know how he knew, but he was certain they formed a circle and the very thought caused a pang of nausea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t like this place.  He </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t like it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would have been delighted to keep walking until dusk, just so long as they got as far away from the strange stone circle as possible, but they hadn’t walked for even half an hour before coming upon a village.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was it too much to hope that they would get through without being flagged down? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Witcher,” a relieved voice stopped them as they wound their way through the village centre.  “Have you come about the notice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Notice?” Geralt turned to speak to the portly man jogging breathlessly towards them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I posted a notice a few weeks back.  I was hoping a witcher would answer it.  We’ve got a nekker problem in the forest.  They’ve made a nest.  I was hoping you’d clear it out.  The fee’s two hundred crowns and you’d be more than welcome to hang around for the festival.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Festival?” Jaskier asked in surprise, but now that he was paying attention, he did notice that the women sitting outside their huts were busy making wreaths and garlands.  Men in the centre of the village square were constructing a stage.  “Is it Midsummer already?”  He’d lost track of time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two days from now,” the man confirmed.  “Old Bessie died in the spring and her hut’s standing empty.  You’d be more than welcome to use it.  Why it’d be an honour to have the famed White Wolf join us for our humble celebration.  We’re a small village but we know how to put on a party.  There’ll be lots of food and ale, music and dancing.  We’d be delighted if a bard such as yourself honoured us with a song, Master Jaskier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned and bowed to Jaskier, and despite his foreboding, he couldn’t help but be flattered at being recognised.  A bit of appreciation went a long way, especially when he hadn’t received any in a long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take the contract,” Geralt cut in.  “Jaskier, check out the hut. I’ll go see to the nekkers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Jaskier caught his arm.  “I should go with you.”  He didn’t like the thought of Geralt walking in those eerie woods alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Jaskier,” Geralt shook him off impatiently.  “You’ll only get in the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t quiet when he said it and the bard’s cheeks burned red with humiliation as villagers looked up and stared.  The witcher seemed to realise that he might have gone too far, because he grimaced and awkwardly patted Jaskier’s shoulder in what he probably thought was a reconciliatory manner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Jaskier sniffed, shrugging off the hand and marching away, not even sending Geralt off with his customary wishes of good luck.  He headed towards the hut the man had indicated was previously Old Bessie’s.  An old woman was leaning on the fence that separated the garden from the hut next door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t leave in anger, dear,” she smiled sympathetically at him.  “The last time my husband and I ever spoke, it was angry words.  You regret them in the years to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll be fine,” Jaskier snorted.  “Nekkers are his bread and butter. They shouldn’t cause him too much trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the Fair Folk you have to be worried about in these woods,” she whispered, and clasped a small pendant around her neck.  It appeared to be a lump of iron.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, Faeries?” Jaskier exclaimed incredulously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep your voice down,” the woman hissed.  “They’re about at this time of year and they’re just waiting for fools to tempt fate and call them forward.”  The look she shot him was so scornful that he meekly shuffled away from her and towards the hut doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shuddered, at what he didn’t know.  He just knew that he didn’t fancy a meeting with the Fae, no matter how good a song it might make.  “Sorry,” he muttered.  “I’ll be careful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt disposed of the nekkers without much trouble and trudged back to the village with Roach.  The horse was judging him; he could feel it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew he hadn’t been the best of company lately, and he knew he had taken it out on her and Jaskier.  It was just… Yennefer.  Yennefer and that damned wish.  It seemed that whenever she was around, he was doomed to lose all sense.  He was swept away by a whirlwind of lilac and gooseberries and everyone else just faded into the background, irrelevant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Yennefer would leave and Geralt would come back to himself and he was left wondering why he did what he did when he was with her.  Why did he feel the need to please her so desperately?  Why did he put up with her insults and commands?  Was it because of the vulnerability she sometimes let him see that matched so well with his own?  Or was it because </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’d</span>
  </em>
  <span> bound them together with djinn magic and that drove all other priorities and relationships from his mind when he was with her?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever the cause, he couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty about the digs Yennefer took at Jaskier.  The bard had heard a lot worse, but the witcher saw some hit him hard.  Geralt never spoke in his defence when this happened, and he felt ashamed later when he remembered.  Jaskier often found a reason to go elsewhere when Yennefer appeared now, and Geralt dreaded the day when he would leave and not return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because they were friends, even if Geralt couldn’t always express it.  Travelling with Jaskier made Geralt feel valued.  It was a heady, addictive sensation that he didn’t fully understand, so he pushed it down and ignored it whenever he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier would probably tell him that wasn’t healthy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier would have been right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He entered the village as the sun began to set.  He hoped Jaskier had dinner sorted for them.  The bard wasn’t a great cook, but he made do, and he often managed to convince someone who could cook to provide them with a meal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a warm night, so he made sure Roach was tethered comfortably behind the hut before entering.  Silence greeted him.  Jaskier wasn’t there and he hadn’t done his usual fussing about with their accommodation either.  The bed wasn’t made, there wasn’t a bath waiting, not even a bowl of water and a cloth for Geralt to scrub with.  No fire warmed the hearth and no food awaited him after a long day of sulking and killing monsters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt gritted his teeth and told himself he didn’t care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t care that he had to light the fire to warm the cool room that was already making goosebumps break out on his blood-encrusted neck.  He didn’t care that he had to drag a bucket outside to the well, where the villagers pointed and stared at him, so that he could wash with cold water.  And he didn’t care that all he had for dinner was some stale bread, three apples and a few strips of dried meat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Needless to say, he was in a foul mood when Jaskier came waltzing in a couple of hours later, looking fresh and happy and smelling of sex and pie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt,” he called.  “The women here are lovely.  Mina insisted on showing me around the village, then Arabella wanted me to see the decorations for Midsummer and finally Gwendolyn refused to let me go until I agreed to take home some of her famous pie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, while Geralt had been fighting monsters and earning them enough coin to see them comfortably to the next big town, Jaskier had been seducing the local maidens and matrons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bard set his prize triumphantly down on the table.  Two slices of pie resting on a wooden plate.  Geralt could smell the sickly-sweet scent of the filling, could almost feel it sticking to the roof of his mouth.  It was a familiar scent.  Gooseberries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anger spiked through him.  Red hot, irrational, and focused solely on the only possible recipient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For fuck’s sake Jaskier, you were out whoring while I was working?  What the fuck have you been doing all afternoon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bard sniffed airily, brushing off Geralt’s temper as if he were an irritating fly, easy enough to swat away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was making friends with the locals.  Nothing wrong with that.  The fact </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to lock yourself away and cry into your pillow because the witch left you again, doesn’t mean I need to put up with your temper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt gritted his teeth and stood up abruptly from where he’d been sitting in wait.  He tried to tell himself to remain calm, that he shouldn’t be angry with Jaskier.  He’d been snapping at the bard since yesterday; of course Jaskier was feeling a bit prickly as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still wanted to punch Jaskier in the face.  Wanted to punch something.  Their quarrel had just awoken the pent-up aggression simmering beneath his skin and now he wanted to tackle Jaskier to the ground, shove his face into the dirt and scream into his chest until he was numb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going for a walk,” he ground out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be daft, Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, as though he were the long-suffering parent and the witcher a particularly unruly child.  “It’s dark out, and the old lady next door was saying something about the Fair Folk being about at this time of year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt laughed.  An ugly, barking sound.  “Faeries!  Don’t be a fool, Jaskier.  They’re old wives’ tales meant to encourage young people away from the woods at night.  Convince them to stay at home under the supervision of their relatives, instead of sneaking off for a bit of fun in the forest.  Don’t be a simpleton.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignored the way Jaskier stiffened, and left before the bard could puff himself up to wage another verbal attack.  Geralt just wasn’t able to deal with this right now, and he strode off angrily into the cool night air.  He tried taking a few deep breaths, but the restlessness remained.  He tramped out of the village and into the woods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a cloudless night, and the moon lit up a clear path through the trees.  Small furry creatures rustled the fallen leaves, and slightly larger furry creatures prowled after them, waiting for an opportune moment to pounce. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt could feel his temper calming with every step.  He would apologise when he got back.  He was lucky, he knew, that Jaskier was quick to forgive and quick to offer his own apologies in return.  He always allowed Geralt to unburden himself, and when the witcher returned to his senses, ready to take back everything he’s just dumped on him, Jaskier gently insisted on sharing the load. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt did not deserve him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leant against a tree, allowing himself to take in the beauty of the stars above him.  What would it be like to travel among them?  What did they see from where they were placed in the sky?  What secrets did they hold? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorted to himself.  He was beginning to think like Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt!” a loud panicked voice shouted from the forest.  A horribly familiar voice.  Had that idiot followed him?  “Geralt, help!” More desperate this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bolted towards the sound.  He’d taken care of the nekkers, but if there were any other monsters lurking in the forest, Jaskier was bound to have found them.  He cursed himself for not bringing his swords; all he had was the dagger in his boot.  It would do at a pinch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” he called out, hoping this would draw any trouble away from the bard and towards himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cry was louder. He was getting closer.  He pounded uphill until a crumpled figure at the top came into view.  Jaskier was sitting in the middle of a cleared circle, large boulders creating a circle around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” he breathed in relief.  The bard seemed relatively unharmed.  “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought I heard something in the woods,” Jaskier smiled ruefully.  “Ran away but tripped and sprained my ankle.  I’m a bit stuck.  Help a poor fellow up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt huffed in relief and stepped forward, reaching out a hand to his friend to help him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment both feet stepped into the circle, the world seemed to tilt sideways.  Geralt found himself on the ground, nauseous and confused, his ears ringing and a strange pounding feeling in his head.  He looked towards Jaskier, but Jaskier was standing up without any aid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was taller than he should have been, thinner too, and as he stretched upwards his features shifted.  The tops of his ears grew longer and pointed, while his hair rippled from soft brown waves into a dark green mess that stuck out in tufts and spikes.  His teeth, when he grinned, were as sharp as a predator’s, and the soft blue eyes turned as golden as Geralt’s own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A trap, Geralt realised, but before he could struggle up, several blows rained down on the back of his head and the world faded before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt,” Jaskier called softly when he woke up the next morning.  The witcher hadn’t returned before the bard had gone to bed, and Jaskier had lain awake for hours, waiting for him to return.  He must have dozed off while waiting, because sunlight was now streaming in through the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hut was silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s belongings were still piled in a corner, and he could hear Roach outside, so the witcher couldn’t have left without him.  He dressed quickly and headed outside.  He hated going to bed angry.  It always left him waking up anxious, like he’d forgotten to do something very important, or slept with someone he shouldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flagged down the man who’d issued the contract yesterday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” he greeted him with a pleasant smile.  Unlike Geralt, he liked to put people at ease instead of frightening them into giving him the information he needed.  “Have you seen Geralt this morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?” the man asked, perplexed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt, the witcher,” Jaskier elaborated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We haven’t seen any witchers,” the man looked genuinely puzzled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I arrived with him yesterday.  He took care of your nekker problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nekker problem?”  Was the man daft?  “It was just you who came in yesterday.  With your horse.  Are you feeling alright, Master Bard?”  The man had the audacity to look at Jaskier as if he were the mad one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt of Rivia,” he spoke slowly and clearly.  “The White Wolf.  The one I sing about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you,” the man said bemused.  “I look forward to hearing about him then.  Is he planning on meeting you here later?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier gave up.  If this man was going to be no help, then he’d just have to ask around.  But no one could seem to remember ever seeing Geralt.  They couldn’t remember Jaskier talking about him yesterday, and the dread building in his body was all encompassing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed Geralt’s sword from the hut and went to search the forest, but he was no tracker and he could find no sign of the witcher anywhere.  Up on the hill, the stone circle seemed to mock him, always visible just out the corner of his eye.  He couldn’t bring himself to go up there.  Everything in him screamed that it was a bad idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to give up when it came clear he was simply walking uselessly in circles.  He returned to the village in the late afternoon and collapsed outside the hut in the sunlight with Roach in sight.  He didn’t dare take his eyes off the horse.  Proof that Geralt was here somewhere.  He wouldn’t leave Roach.  He wouldn’t leave them.  Not willingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something strange was at work.  Something magical.  But why did Jaskier remember and no one else?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you dear?” The old woman from yesterday asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m waiting for my friend,” he told her despondently.  He knew very little about magic.  He had no idea how he could fix this.  Maybe he should try and find Yennefer?  But how?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember him?” the woman sounded incredulous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I remember him,” Jaskier snapped.  “Wait, you remember him too?”  He jumped to his feet and had bolted over the fence separating the two huts before he could consider how it looked, a strange man bearing down on a frail little old lady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright Martha,” a young woman called out to her, eying Jaskier with disapproval.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right as rain, this young man just needs something to eat.  Come in dear.”  She hobbled slowly into her home and Jaskier followed obediently, taking in the small living space, much like the one he’d occupied last night.  A single room, but she had set up a screen to portion off a section near the fire.  She bustled around, waving him to the table as she ladled pottage into a bowl and set it down in front of him with a hunk of bread and some cheese.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eat,” she encouraged, before he could begin his interrogation.  “You look like you’ve been roaming the forest all day.”  He had. He ate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched him hawkishly the entire time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did they touch you?” she asked him once he'd finished the last crumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Fair Folk. You’ve been touched by them. You wouldn’t remember your friend if you hadn’t been.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand,” Jaskier admitted, completely lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martha snorted.  “They got you young then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, but I need to check; we are talking about faeries, yes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands went up to her pendant.  “Yes,” she hissed.  “You’ve dealt with them before or else their magic would work upon you and you’d forget like everyone else.  They always snatch someone this time of year, and no one remembers they ever existed in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apart from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she sighed, and brought a withered, feeble hand to her eyes.  “I was young and stupid once.  I wanted something so badly I was willing to make a deal with the Fair Folk to get it.  They leave their mark on people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But every year someone disappears?  Why?  What happens to them?”  He needed to know.  Geralt couldn’t be gone forever.  Jaskier wouldn’t let that happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re lured to the Faery Mound.”  Her eyes darted anxiously around the room, as if looking for spies.  “They disappear into… the ‘Otherworld’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” she snapped.  “But they never come back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Geralt would have to be the first then, because Jaskier refused to lose him.  He’d drag that witcher out by his ear if he had to.  No one got to kidnap Geralt and get away with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do I get into this ‘Otherworld’?” he demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t, you fool,” Martha scoffed.  “The Fair Folk would eat you up, spit you out and play with your remains for eternity.  Take it from one who knows.  You cannot bargain with them and come out the winner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They have my friend.  I’m not leaving him.  Either you help me or…” he trailed off in what he hoped was a threatening manner.  He had no idea what he’d do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could think of a suitable threat, a wail broke through the tense silence.  It came from behind the screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to see what happens when you think to meddle with them?  Come and look.”  Martha dragged him up with surprising strength for one so old, and hauled him round the screen.  A cradle lay there, a high-pitched, reedy screech emanating from it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier peered cautiously inside, but it only contained a baby.  A bonny one at that, but nothing unusual about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your grandchild?” he hazarded a guess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martha gave a bitter little laugh as she scooped up the babe, rocking it until it quieted down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My son,” she corrected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier reeled back.  It couldn’t be.  This woman had to be at least seventy.  There was no way she could have produced that squalling creature.  He couldn’t be more than six months old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thirty,” she refused to look at him.  Stared instead at her son in her arms.  “Married my husband when I was but a lass of eighteen.  Twelve years I was a good man’s wife, but no cradle could I fill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My grandmother had told me of the Fair Folk, so I went to the stones to bargain.  Bargained all night for a baby and they gave me one.  My little boy.  Joy seemed to enter our home again, but after a year we realised something was wrong.  He never got any older, never grew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I went back to the stones, but the Fair Folk would not answer me.  I’d asked for a babe and a babe was all I got.  My husband wanted to drown him, but I couldn’t let him.  Had an almighty row and he stormed off.  Only came back to collect his things and leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mostly, Jaskier was horrified, but a tiny part of his brain that never fully shut down was already composing a tune to fit the tale.  He hated himself for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What will you do?  Rock him until the end?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I must.”  She looked up at him, tears catching in the folds of her wrinkled cheeks.  “Take this as the warning it is.  Don’t mess with the Fair Folk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that would mean leaving Geralt to his fate, and he couldn’t do that.  What would his life be without the witcher?  Empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thought must have shown in his eyes, because the old woman’s face crumpled even more, a mess of deep set lines, like cracks in the bark of a tree.  “I’ll not dissuade you, will I?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you’ll sleep here tonight, and tomorrow, at sunrise, you’ll head to the stones.  Every part of you will protest against it, but you’ll need to step into the circle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should go there now,” he protested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need sleep, boy.  You’re going to need your wits about you if you’ve got any chance of winning against them.  Besides, the men will be up there now, setting up the bonfire for tomorrow night.  It’s Midsummer tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier was taken back to his own childhood memories.  His father had always laughed at the peasants for their silly superstitions, but Jaskier remembered watching a giant bonfire blazing in the distance from his bedroom window.  His nanny had told him it was to keep evil spirits at bay, as Midsummer was a night when the veil between the worlds thinned and all manner of nasties could crawl through and devour little boys who didn’t wash their hands before dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It, too, had been set up by a stone circle on top of a hill, but Jaskier had never been allowed to go there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The lady doesn’t seem to like her baby much.  She picks him up when appropriate, but otherwise leaves him with his nursemaid.  Hanna has caught glimpses of her face through cracks in doors when her guests pass little Julian around, gushing over what a beautiful baby he is.  She looks like she’s bitten into something sour. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lucy, the kitchen maid, told Hanna’s mum, when Hanna was in earshot, that she’d heard the lady yelling at the lord for wasting too much time on the baby.  Apparently, he’s hardly visited his wife’s rooms since she’d given birth.  This isn’t surprising to Hanna.  Everyone who works at the house knows that while the lady is very beautiful, she also has a sharp tongue, quick temper and is extremely vain.  Hanna wouldn’t want to spend much time with the lady either.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She tells her grandmother this when she goes to visit.  Grandmother lives out in the woods, and Hanna enjoys sitting in her hut which always smells of the fresh herbs Grandmother hangs to dry from the ceiling.  Grandmother is a Wise Woman, with capital letters.  She knows what to do about </span>
  </em>
  <span>everything</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Grandmother tsks when Hanna tells her about the lady and her treatment of little Julian. Hanna is still sneaking in to see whenever she can.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“She’s jealous of the attention the babe receives.  Trouble with babies is, they’re adorable wee mites and they do tend to drag folk’s attention to them.  She ought to be careful though.  A mother’s envy is a surefire way to draw the attention of the Fair Folk.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She levels a stern look at Hanna. ”Keep an eye out. If you see anything strange, come straight to me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt awoke with a headache.  Voices clamoured all around him, intensifying the pounding in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands, he noticed, were tied behind his back with coarse rope.  This was not the first time he’d found himself in such a predicament and was unlikely to be the last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feigned unconsciousness, keeping his breathing natural and his eyes closed, using his other senses to take stock of his situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was probably in some kind of tent.  A rather luxurious one.  The ground beneath him was softened by a rug, but his back was pressed against a coarse sackcloth wall.  The air was cool, the breeze blew easily around him and he could smell the familiar scents of a forest.  He could hear the rustling of feet moving through leaves and voices speaking over one another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None sounded too nearby, so he allowed his eyes to crack open slightly.  He was right, he was in a tent.  All alone in a tent.  His dagger was gone, but whoever had tied these knots did not know about a witcher’s strength.  He escaped them easily enough, though his wrists were rubbed raw and burned.  He knew better than to hurry.  Clumsy legs would only make noise and hinder his escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubbed them until he felt certain they would support his weight and rose quietly to his feet.  There was nothing useful in the tent, only rugs and pillows.  Not even a platter of food of some kind to bludgeon people with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t dare peer out the front of the tent; he could hear his kidnappers talking close by, but for once he had some luck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whoever had put up this tent, didn’t seem to know what they were doing, because the walls flapped loosely in the breeze and a gap appeared between the floor and the wall.  It was not a dignified exit, squirming under the back wall of the tent while trying to make as little noise as possible, and he barely managed it.  He didn’t stop to take a proper look at his surroundings, but instead moved quickly away from the voices and into the cover of the trees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t recognise these trees.  This forest.  His medallion hummed with the ambient magic surrounding him.  The air was warm around him, but he shivered anyway, remembering the creature in the stone circle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Faeries.  Fucking faeries.  Jaskier would never let him live this down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed to find the stone circle again.  They had used it to bring him here; he would use it to take himself back.  Except he had no idea where he was, what direction to go in and soon his captors would notice he was missing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been late evening when he’d been captured, but the sun in the sky was only just setting.  He’d been unconscious for almost a day. At least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t hang about though.  The important thing now was to put as much distance between himself and his kidnappers as possible.  He’d work out details later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if reading his thoughts, a loud cry rose through the trees from the direction of the camp.  His escape had been noticed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran as carefully as he could across the uneven terrain; the last thing he needed now was to slip and fall, but this was unfamiliar land.  His captors seemed to know it well enough because it sounded as if they were getting closer to him.  Surrounding him.  He couldn’t outrun them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a moment to stop, to search desperately for a place to hide.  A rustling of leaves behind him had him spinning around defensively, but he could see nothing in the gloom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Psst,” a voice hissed from the forest floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked down.   A pair of hazel brown eyes was peering up at him from under the leaves.  The ground moved upwards to display a trap door.  In the middle of a fucking forest.  A round eared, blunt toothed, perfectly ordinary looking human man held it open and gestured frantically for him to get in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the absence of any other options, Geralt climbed in.  The world instantly plunged into darkness as the trap door was pulled shut behind him.  In the gloom, Geralt’s witcher eyes could pick out the shape of the man and a tunnel, sloping downwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t light a lamp yet,” the man breathed, pressed almost completely against him.  “Don’t want to give ourselves away.  We wait here for a couple of hours until they’ve definitely moved on, and then we can head down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Above them Geralt could hear the pounding of feet and distressed shouting.  He nodded his head, making sure his new companion could feel his agreement, and settled in to wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martha woke him before dawn.  Jaskier had not had a restful night’s sleep.  His own mind had kept him tossing and turning throughout the night, and several times the baby had woken him after he'd finally managed to doze off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t think Martha had slept at all.  She looked haggard and ancient.  But she’d made him breakfast and he ate it gratefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve put together a pack,” she told him.  “My gran said you should never eat the Fair Folk’s food, or you’ll never be able to cross back over.  Also, you should take this.” She set a sheathed dagger down on the table.  “Made of pure iron.  Only way to properly harm one of them I heard.  And…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She actually blushed as she laid an oak wreath out in front of him.  “We always make crowns for each other at this time of year.  Flowers for the girls, oak leaves for the boys.  It’s daft, but may it bring you luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier felt rather touched.  He picked the crown up reverently and laid it carefully on top of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be back,” he promised, as he took the dagger and slid it into his boot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sniffed wetly.  “Be off with you then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rose, but before he left, he bent down to press a kiss to her cheek in thanks.  If he never saw her again, he wanted her to know he was grateful.  His only other stop was the hut he should have been sharing with Geralt.  He saw to Roach, ensuring that she would be comfortable for a few days, and darted briefly inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew he should take one of Geralt’s swords.  Who knew what might attack him in the Otherworld?  But a sword had never been his weapon of choice.  The lute on the other hand…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a fool’s decision but he forwent the sword and swung his prized possession up onto his shoulder, the familiar weight a great comfort.  He strode out and made his way towards the trees.  It was the longest day of the year and, despite the early hour, the sun was already rising above the horizon.  Jaskier was glad of it.  He didn’t want to do this in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The circle loomed above him quickly enough, and as Martha had said, every part of him wanted to run away and hide.  Was it magic that made him feel this way?  Or was it a forgotten, long-buried memory that struck fear into every atom of his being?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He focused on Geralt.  Kept the witcher at the forefront of his mind.  He replayed the many nights they’d spent in many different forests, sitting peacefully by a fire and laughing quietly together.  How Geralt always ensured he got the best spot by the fire, so he stayed warm at night.  The witcher always slept just behind him, keeping his giant frame between Jaskier and the dangers that might lurk in the woods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so busy remembering the best of his witcher, that he was almost surprised when he reached the stone circle.  He didn’t hesitate.  A moment of doubt and he’d run back, disappear and leave Geralt to his fate.  He couldn’t let that happen, so he forced himself quickly into the circle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His world shifted, tilted sideways and then righted itself again, leaving him reeling.  His brain protested at the dizzying treatment and he had to close his eyes for a few moments, lest he fell to the ground.  Sheer stubbornness kept him standing, and when he reluctantly opened his eyes, it wasn’t his own world that greeted him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This wasn’t the forest Jaskier had been in before stepping into the circle.  The trees were unlike any he’d ever seen before.  Giants with dark, rough bark that ran red where it cracked.  Leaves of both green and gold hung down from the branches and fluttered in the breeze. He didn’t trust the look of those trees at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every survival instinct Geralt claimed he didn’t possess was screaming at him to get out of there, but Jaskier forced it back and clutched his lute strap tightly.  Geralt wasn’t here.  Or, more accurately, he was somewhere, and he needed Jaskier to rescue him for once.  He licked his dry lips, and took a shaky step forward, out of the stone circle and into the forest.  He could have sworn those trees were watching him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crept through the wood, every breath seeming far too loud.  Apart from the rustling of the trees it was completely still.  There were no birds singing, no creatures crawling, no animals scuffling about on the ground.  Where was all the wildlife? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to stop.  His breath was too loud, and he felt too exposed, too vulnerable.  He hummed to himself, as quietly as he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Toss a coin to your witcher, oh Valley of Plenty…”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Geralt might have found the song irritating, but it inspired a certain kind of bravery in Jaskier, and it forced him to pick himself up again and edge forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes later, he heard them.  A large group of some kind.  He knew the sound.  It was a familiar one.  His father had held many a hunting party during Jaskier’s youth.  They all sounded the same.  The barking of dogs, the rumble of enthusiastic voices that transformed into shouts of old, familiar jokes.  The sound of weaponry being checked and sharpened; bows being strung.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier had sat with his little notepad near the outer circle of his father’s companions and composed hunting songs, much to his father’s disappointment.  His father had wanted him to be an outdoors man, like himself.  Jaskier’s love of wildlife as the inspiration for songs and poems did not count.  His younger brother was far more like the boy his father had always dreamed of having.  Jaskier had never been allowed to forget it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crept forward, trying to keep behind a tree at all times, heart pounding in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, a group of bizarre, vaguely human-shaped creatures had settled down in a small clearing, laughing boisterously around a fire as they readied themselves for a hunt.  They must be the Fae.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a human camp hidden beneath the ground.  Geralt had never seen anything like it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the man who had rescued him was sure it was safe to do so, he’d lit his lamp and beckoned for Geralt to follow him quietly.  They’d crept down the tunnel, moving deeper and deeper into the earth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to need something to call you by,” the man spoke softly.  “Don’t give me your actual name. That’s dangerous here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt considered this.  Jaskier would have been able to dub him something else on the spot, but nothing leapt immediately  to Geralt’s mind.  He hoped Jaskier was ok.  Hoped he didn’t drive himself mad searching for Geralt.  The bard had no doubt realised his companion was missing by now.  If the noble fool got himself eaten by something in the woods while looking for Geralt, the witcher would kill him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Julian.  You can call me Julian.”  It’s not like Jaskier ever used that name, Geralt might as well borrow it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Bluebell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did not look like a Bluebell.  His hair might have been blonde, but the colour was hidden under layers of grime and grease.  He was haggard and unhealthily thin.  His brown eyes held a kind of desperate despair to them that made Geralt want to look the other way.  He was more like a half-starved stray, terrified of being backed into a corner, than he was a flower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bluebell shrugged.  “I know, most just call me Blue.  The Fae like to give us pretty names.  Even after they discard us, when we’re no longer pretty or cute enough for them, the name sticks.”  He started walking again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are we?” Geralt asked, following close behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re in the Aes Sidhe.  Faery land.  You must be careful; the rules are different here.  Don’t give anyone your real name. It gives them power over you.  Have you eaten anything since you came here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue gave him a bitter smile.  “Then don’t.  It’ll be so much harder for you to leave if you do.  It’ll give this place a hold over you.  Hold out as long as possible and only drink water you collect from a river yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are trapped here,” Geralt surmised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All of us here are.”  The tunnel widened, and as they rounded the corner Geralt caught his first sight of the ramshackle camp.  They were standing at the mouth of the tunnel, and it opened into a massive cave.  Tents made of all manner of materials were set up everywhere in little groups.  Luminescent balls of pale white light hung suspended in the air, lighting up the cave and the people scurrying quietly below them.  No one made any loud noise, but there was a rustling as they chatted quietly to each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are those?” Geralt gestured at the lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a kind of algae that grows on the walls of some of the tunnels.  It glows in the dark, so we covered some rocks in the stuff and strung it up.”  Blue shrugged modestly.  “It’s worked well for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt was led through the camp, everyone stopping to stare as he passed, until Blue halted in front of a stern looking woman with a nasty burn covering half her face.  She looked up from where she’d been skinning rabbits and eyed Geralt critically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Petra, this is Julian.  He’s Ceoil’s latest tribute.  Julian, this is Petra, the leader of our merry little band.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They nodded to each other solemnly and Petra gestured for them to squat by her while she continued to skin the rabbits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tribute?” Geralt asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, tribute,” Petra grimaced, her words grating unpleasantly as if she were speaking through a mouthful of glass.  “King Ceoil must pay one each Midsummer.  That bastard offended the Hunter and now he must provide prey once a year for the god to hunt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed coldly.  “Lucky you.  You’re supposed to be the guest of honour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt growled at her cavalier tone.  He was not prey.  He was a hunter himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not eaten anything,” Blue leaned forward anxiously.  “Petra, he could go back.  He’s not necessarily trapped here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That caught her interest, and she put down her knife and the rabbit to give him her full attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This true?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded.  She leant back and breathed out heavily through scarred nostrils.  “Julian not your real name?” she checked and when he nodded again a vicious grin spread across her face.  “Oh, excellent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blue, find him a tent.  We need to keep him hidden until tomorrow.  Then we can get him back to the stones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should get him back now,” Blue argued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s too risky.  Ceoil will be doing everything he can to find him.  He’ll survive without a meal for that long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rose to her feet, smiled briefly at them both and strode away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck is going on?” Geralt decided it was time to cut to the chase.  Blue tried to tug him to his feet, but the witcher refused to move and glared up at him instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a long story,” Blue pleaded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It sounds like we have time if you’re not letting me leave until tomorrow,” Geralt noted.  “Give me the quick version.  Who are you all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue gave a scathing little laugh.  “I don’t know.  Is there a word for what you call the opposite of changelings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were all stolen children?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most of us, though a few, like Petra, are mortals who tried and failed to get their children back.”  He sighed and sank back down, settling himself in for a story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were stolen as babes, when we were young and cute.  Swapped for some unwanted faery child.  Eventually, we grew up and we weren’t cute anymore.  There are only so many options for humans in this world.  We are either enslaved, the pretty ones becoming bedwarmers, the plain ones going to the kitchens, or we are killed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or you escape,” Geralt observed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or we escape and spend the rest of our lives hiding.  And having eaten faery food, our lives can be very long.  I’m two hundred, give or take a few years.  I look rather good for it I reckon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s head was spinning as he took in this new information.  Faeries were not supposed to be real.  Kaer Morhen had never prepared him for dealing with them.  He’d never had to plan an escape from a different dimension before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He told himself to remain calm.  This was just another ill-informed contract.  He’d dealt with unknowns before.  He just needed to gather information and work out a plan from there.  He </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>get back. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>see Jaskier again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier would be waiting for him.  He’d be full of his usual bright enthusiasm when Geralt came striding in through the doorway of the hut.  He’d scold Geralt, at great length, for worrying him, but he’d be overjoyed to see him.  He’d shower Geralt with the easy affection the witcher sometimes made the mistake of taking for granted.  He’d let Jaskier know, when he got back, how much it meant to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>would.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not go back to the mortal world.  Why stay hidden here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.  Something about the magic of the food and the name makes it almost impossible for us to leave without the help of a powerful faery.  Not many of them are willing to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And who is this Ceoil, and why does he want me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue opened his mouth to reply, but a shadow fell over them.  “Blue, I’m glad you’re back safe,” said a familiar voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s head shot up so fast that the noise of his neck cracking reverberated round the cave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier was standing in front of him.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed, feel free to come say hi on <a href="https://dancinglassie.tumblr.com/">tumblr!</a></p><p>Martha and her Faery son are inspired by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fe0FmI47W7U">this</a> beautiful and chilling song by Heather Dale.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Thorough bush, thorough briar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A huge thank you to <a href="https://willowherbgardens.tumblr.com/">Willowherb</a> for beta reading this chapter.</p><p>And please go check out <a href="https://help-idontknowwhattodraw.tumblr.com/">Aro's</a> work.  She created all the amazing artwork for this fic!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> There are whispers in the nursery.  Hanna can hear them.  Strange shadows as well.  Crooning voices sing unintelligible lullabies. Hanna hears them when she presses her ear to the door from the hallway but they stop abruptly when she opens it.  She can make out shadows that should not be there flit out the window, quicker than a blink of the eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The nursemaid often finds little Julian out of his crib, even though it should not be possible for the baby to escape his confines.  His face and hands are often stained pink with berry juice, even though raspberries are out of season.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hanna goes to her grandmother. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “The Fair Folk have taken a fancy to him.  They’ll snatch him away if we’re not careful. Replace him with a mischievous child of their own.  Who knows what havoc that thing could wreak?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What should I do?” Hanna asks fearfully.  She will not let them take her Julian.  Not now when he can wave his little arms at her, not now when he can tangle her dirty blonde hair in his little fist and suck on it until she bribes him with honey smeared on her little finger.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Iron.  You need to place iron in the babe’s crib.  The Fair Folk won’t be able to go near him then.  It’ll protect him.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Later that day she sneaks back into the nursery and carefully tucks her mother’s iron scissors under Julian’s pillow.  He’ll be safe now.  She’ll protect him. </em>
</p><p>* * *</p><p>The Fae were beautiful.  Pointed ears, longer than an elf’s, stuck out from under long tresses of hair decorated with feathers and semi-precious stones.  Cheekbones that would make the most striking maiden weep with envy graced the faces of each and every one of them, the hollows of their cheeks tinged with green.  They all sported swirling tattoos in soft blues and greens on their faces and arms. </p><p>Jaskier stayed hidden, hands clamped over his mouth to try and muffle his startled breath.  The Fae didn’t seem to notice him as they kept up their jokes and tasks, none glancing his way.  Then a horn sounded from the forest, in the direction Jaskier was facing, and every single one of them straightened up to face the sound.</p><p>The sight of the creature striding into the clearing made Jaskier freeze where he stood.  This must be what rabbits felt like, when they twitched their noses out of the safety of their burrows, wary of predators.  He felt very much like a defenceless little rabbit at that moment.  A very young, potentially trapped one.</p><p>This… <em> thing </em> was a hunter with a man’s shape.  He stood tall, at least two and a half meters or so, and that was discounting the massive bone-white antlers stretching out above his head of shaggy black hair.  Dark skin was marked with intricate tattoos the same colour as his antlers.  He raised his mighty head and sniffed the air.</p><p>“I can smell you, little prey.”  His deep voice rattled Jaskier’s teeth and he felt it vibrating through his bones.  He could not move.  The other Fae turned around, searching the trees until they caught sight of him.</p><p>Two broke off from the group and started towards him.  It was that which broke Jaskier’s paralysis.  Drawing himself up to his full height, he reached for his tiny dagger and brandished it in front of him.</p><p>It was comical; he was dwarfed by them and they had curved bronze blades while he only had his little knife and his beloved lute.  They stopped though, the moment they saw his weapon, and their beautiful faces twisted into ugly snarls.</p><p>“The bunny has teeth.  It likes to nip at the hand that comes too close” the antlered faery bellowed with laughter.  “How amusing.  Come and join me little rabbit.”</p><p>Against all common sense, Jaskier felt compelled to do just that and he barely stopped himself from hopping over.  He did stop himself though. </p><p>This seemed to interest the creature even more.  He walked forward, eying Jaskier with interest.</p><p>“You wear my symbol, frightened little mouse.  You have a strong mind as well.  Come and sit by my fire and I <em> swear </em> that no harm shall come to you while we keep company.”</p><p>There was a weight to that promise.  He could almost taste the magic to it, a layer of pine and blood coating his tongue.  An exhilarating taste.  He moved cautiously forward, the faeries parting to allow him, and settled himself down by the fire as the antlered faery squatted down next to him.</p><p>“I must have something to call you, little fawn.”</p><p>Jaskier hesitated.  He was reluctant to give his own name.  He wasn’t sure if the stories regarding the magic in names were true, but he wasn’t willing to risk it.</p><p>“Dandelion,” he settled for an old, short lived stage name.  “And what do I call you?”</p><p>“You humans have such short memories.  Once you worshipped me as a god.  I have been called many things: Cernach, Cernunnos…  But you may call me Herne.”  The Horned God.  The Hunter.  The god whose symbols included that of an oak tree.  Jaskier had come across him during his Oxenfurt studies.  He wished he’d paid more attention now.  He resisted reaching up to touch the wreath in his hair. </p><p>“Planning a hunt?” he tried to ask lightly.  He failed and it came out as more of a croak. </p><p>Herne grinned, and his teeth were sharp and predatory.  His eyes, now that Jaskier could see him, were greener than the leaves adorning Jaskier’s brow, and shone with a feral glee.</p><p>“This night is <em> my </em> night.  The shortest night of the year.  When the sun sets, the prey will be released and we shall have a grand hunt!  But tell me, Dandelion.  Humans don’t usually wander here.”  He leans towards Jaskier and sniffs him pointedly.  The bard can make out some curved markings etched into his antlers.  “You’ve not been claimed by any of my brethren.  So, what are you doing here?  Get lost?”</p><p>The faeries surrounding them snickered.</p><p>“My friend’s gone missing,” he jutted his chin out defiantly.  “I’m looking for him.  I don’t suppose you’ve happened to see him?  Taller than me, white hair, yellow eyes, doesn’t talk much.”</p><p>“Hmmm…”  It was so like Geralt’s hum that Jaskier felt a dash of hope.  “I have not seen him.  But…” And he eyed Jaskier’s lute.  “Play me a song, Dandelion.  A good hunting song to put us in the mood for a grand chase.”</p><p>Jaskier had been put on the spot on many occasions by many different nobles and monarchs.  He’d learned how to read a room and judge for himself what melodies would be welcome.  This time, however, the words leapt to his tongue unbidden.  He didn’t have to look around to read the room; he just <em> knew </em>what song would please them.  And it wasn’t a song he remembered learning.</p><p>He didn’t strum his lute but brought it around onto his lap so he could tap out a beat on the wood.  His voice dropped low and something primal stirred in his heart.</p><p>
  <em> ‘You can say your prayers, work your rites </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Burn your little candles day and night </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You can shimmy till dawn to the pounding drums </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But you best be ready when the Horned One comes.’ </em>
</p><p>The faeries around him seemed to approve because they began to stamp their feet along to the beat.  Herne had his eyes closed, but he was smiling smugly, shaking his antlered head from side to side with the rhythm.</p><p>
  <em> ‘He will call you out, make you sweat, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Give you a blessing that you’ll never forget. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So revel in the chase and let your heartbeat run: </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Blessed are the children of the Horned One!’ </em>
</p><p>He carried on, feeling the tempo of the song permeate his bones as he swayed subconsciously to the rhythm of the music he was making.  He automatically stood to take a bow when he came to the end, and the faeries applauded enthusiastically as Herne rose to his feet and clapped him heartily on the back.  He staggered under the blow but managed, just, to  remain upright.</p><p>“You are a gifted human!  You play as well as any of my brethren.  Give me a few more songs Dandelion, and I shall help you find this friend you seek.”</p><p>Jaskier fumbled with his lute in his haste to comply, but dutifully began to play.  ‘Toss a coin’, he was pleased to see, was received with great delight.  He stuck mostly to his bawdy repertoire, trying to keep the mood light and cheerful.  When he finally set his lute down, the faeries were smiling openly at him in a creepy, but genuine, way.  At least they no longer looked like they wanted to devour him with their sharp teeth.</p><p>“You should stay, Dandelion,” Herne told him.  “Forget that mortal world of yours and become my bard.  I would be a good master.  You’d have fine clothes, good food and a long, long life.  The adventures we could go on!  And then you would sing them across the Aes Sidhe so that everyone knew of my skill and might.”</p><p>“The Aes Sidhe?” Jaskier asked weakly, wondering how he was supposed to turn down a god’s invitation.</p><p>“This world and the people in it.  You call us <em> faeries </em> ,” he spat the word.  “You make up sweet little tales about pixies and pucks who will help a kindly soul who leaves out a bowl of milk.  It’s an insult.  We are <em> not </em> your servants.  We roamed your land long before you ever arrived.  Even your elves once bowed to us. </p><p>“We are the Aes Sidhe, ‘people of the mounds’.  It is a shame you have forgotten so much about us.”</p><p>“Then I must return, Mighty Hunter,” Jaskier bowed his best courtly bow.  He knew this game; he’d played it in many a court.  Ego was ego, no matter what the species.  “So I can sing many songs of this adventure and set the record straight.  I just need to find my friend before I can leave.  You said you would help.”</p><p>“I did,” the Hunter agreed.  “And a promise must be kept.  I can make a good guess as to who has taken your friend.  He always takes a mortal at this time of year.  Ceoil, one of the Faery Kings.  But little bird, I warn you, freeing your friend will not be easy.  Don’t go straight to Ceoil’s court.  It will end in death.  Go to his wife instead.”</p><p>“His wife?”</p><p>“Aye, no one hates him more than her.”</p><p>Jaskier had witnessed a great many royal marriages and this did not surprise him.  He was not foolish enough, despite what Geralt might have thought, to brag about bedding queens, but he had graced a fair few of their beds.  The occasional king too. </p><p>“How do I find her?” </p><p>“Follow me.”</p><p>They walked into the forest together, the rest of the party staying behind.  It should have been difficult, Jaskier thought, for Herne to move so easily through the trees with those large antlers, but he managed it effortlessly and silently.  They came to a stop when they reached a fallen tree.  The stump had rotted enough to be hollowed out here and there. </p><p>Herne raised a finger to his lips and gestured for Jaskier to stay slently a few steps back.  They waited together for a few moments before a wisp of something darted out of the tree.  Herne was on it before it could flit away, clasping it easily in his giant hands.</p><p>A sound like the whistle of an angry kettle emanated from his closed palms, but Herne just shook his captive roughly until the noise stopped.  His hands were forced apart as the wisp grew bigger, though one hand kept a firm hold of what was turning into a neck.  The wisp eventually transformed into a man shaped creature which Herne shook until it became solid.  White hair merged with white skin.  It was naked and sexless, smooth skin all over.  The only spark of colour  was in its eyes, two orbs of blue fire glinting eerily at them.  It pulled back white, almost invisible lips, and snarled at them.</p><p>Herne cuffed it over the head with the hand that wasn’t holding onto its neck.</p><p>“What should I do with you, little wisp?  Should I give you to my hunters?  Let them chase you?  Let them practise?” </p><p>The creature trembled.</p><p>“Or are you willing to help out my friend here?  Accompany him for the rest of the day and see him swiftly and safely on his travels?”</p><p>It whistled shrilly, dipping its head in agreement.</p><p>“Excellent!” Herne cried, letting it go.  “Dandelion, allow me to introduce you to your guide.  This is a will-o’-the-wisp.  I believe you humans sometimes call them Jack Lanterns.  Jack here is used to showing people the way.  They’ll take you to Queen Mabd and once your business with her is done, I’m sure they can take you to the king.” </p><p>He walked over to Jaskier and bent his massive head to rest it against Jaskier’s forehead.  Green eyes boring into his own.  “You are a brave one for a human.  I do hope we meet again.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Jaskier swallowed nervously.  Herne pressed a rough, fatherly kiss to his hairline as he stood, before striding back in the direction of his camp.  Jaskier was left alone with the strange wisp creature.  It glared blue fire at him.</p><p>He pasted on his most charming smile.  “So, Jack.  Can I call you Jack?  Thank you so much for agreeing to help me.  I really am truly grateful for all of this.  You have no idea how much.  There will be songs sung in your honour when I get home.  Just you wait.”</p><p>The blue fire dimmed slightly, as the wisp cocked its head to the side and regarded him curiously.  It let out a whistle that could only be interpreted as a snort and headed off into the trees.  Jaskier followed, babbling as he went.</p><p>* * *</p><p>“You must be our latest recruit,” ‘Jaskier’ smiled at the witcher.  Except it wasn’t Jaskier.  It couldn’t be.</p><p>It looked like him.  Or rather it looked like a different version of Jaskier.  One who had lived a harsh, cursed existence.  His hair was longer than Jaskier’s, hanging limply just above his shoulders and stubble covered his cheeks and chin.  There was a hungry look to his face and the belt cinched around his waist showed he was much skinnier than the Jaskier Geralt knew.  The biggest difference, though, was the angry red mark stretched over half his face.  That and the bitterness haunting his eyes.</p><p>“This is Julian,” Blue introduced.  “Julian, this is Yarrow.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Does he have a bed sorted yet?” Yarrow checked.  When Blue shook his head, he tutted.  “I’ll go get him set up with some necessities.  I’ll be by the river when you need me.”  He stalked off, gait elegant and swift.</p><p>“Who’s he?” Geralt snarled.  “How long has he been here?”</p><p>Blue looked at him strangely.  “Yarrow’s one of us.  He escaped young.  He’s been with us for about thirty years.  Why?”</p><p>What age was Jaskier now?  Geralt should have known this.  They’d been travelling together for about twenty years.  Jaskier had been young when they met, but still old enough to be a man, if only barely.  So, he must be almost forty now.  Yarrow looked around the same age.  Did that mean…</p><p>Did Jaskier know?</p><p>Did he realise he was the cuckoo chick in some other bird’s nest?  That the privileged childhood he had enjoyed had been at the expense of another?</p><p>Did he know he was a changeling?</p><p>Surely not.  He couldn’t keep anything from Geralt at the best of times.  He wouldn’t have been able to keep that a secret if he’d known.</p><p>“He looks familiar,” Geralt growled.  Blue caught on quickly.</p><p>“I’d keep that to yourself.  It would be cruel to let him know you’ve seen the life that might have been his.  Yarrow can be a bit prickly at the best of times.  He’s our unofficial quartermaster.  He’ll get you set up for the short while you’re with us.”</p><p>A soft voiced woman called over to them and Blue rose to go to her, giving Geralt a reassuring clap on the shoulder.  With nothing else to do, Geralt headed towards the sound of running water.  An underground stream, barely a river, ran along one side of the cave.  Yarrow was perched by it, filling waterskins before tossing them into a crudely made wheelbarrow.</p><p>“Help yourself,” Yarrow grunted at him.  It was jarring to hear Jaskier’s voice come from someone who so obviously wasn’t Jaskier.</p><p>Remembering Blue’s words, he ignored the waterskins and crouched down next to Yarrow, cupping his hands and dipping them into the cold water and bringing them to his lips to drink.  He hadn’t realised how thirsty he was until the first drop hit his tongue and then he was gulping it down, barely resisting the temptation to dunk his head straight into the river.</p><p>Yarrow laughed, and unlike Jaskier’s gentle, chiding chuckles, this was far more mocking.  It made Geralt’s hackles rise and he glared.</p><p>“You’re like a dog,” Yarrow laughed harder.  “Come on boy, let’s get you sorted out.  Heel!”</p><p>Geralt rose to his full height and loomed over Yarrow.  He was a touch shorter than Jaskier, probably a result of malnutrition.  He wasn’t phased by the angry witcher though.  He and the bard had that in common it seemed.</p><p>“You hungry, big boy?”</p><p>Geralt’s stomach rumbled on cue. </p><p>“We’ll get you some food then.”</p><p>“Can’t,” Geralt hissed.</p><p>“Can’t?  No point starving yourself.  We’re not like the Lords and Ladies above.  You don’t need to beg and slave away for a scrap of food.  We don’t have much, but we have enough to go round.”</p><p>“Petra and Blue said not to.  Said I wouldn’t be able to go home.”</p><p>“Home?”  Yarrow had picked up the handles of the barrow, but he wasn’t moving.  “How long have you been here?  When did you cross over?”</p><p>“Yesterday, I think.”</p><p>Yarrow scrutinized him for a moment, and those blue eyes that had always seen straight to his heart seemed, for the first time, to see through him.</p><p>“You’re King Ceoil’s latest tribute,” he stated, a pleased grin spreading across his scarred face as he figured it out. </p><p>“So they tell me.  Though no one’s seen fit to explain who this Ceoil is.”</p><p>“<em>King </em>Ceoil is one of the Faery Kings of the Aes Sidhe.  The strongest amongst them.”</p><p>There was a sort of begrudging respect in Yarrow’s voice.  A lot of hate as well.</p><p>“I take it you’ve met him.”</p><p>Yarrow blew out an angry breath, nostrils flaring as he pushed his barrow forward, back to the tents.  Geralt followed. </p><p>“I spent my childhood being tossed back and forth between his queen’s court and his.  I was the toy they used to torment each other.  I escaped before one of them ended up killing me.”</p><p>“Such tales are common here,” Geralt noted, closely observing Yarrow’s face.  He rose to the bait just as Jaskier would have.</p><p>“Hardly!” Yarrow snapped.  “Blue was pampered and doted on for sixty years before they grew tired of him.  Crocus’ faery wanted to marry her.  Petra came here to rescue her nephew, but stupidly ate the picnic the Fae laid out for her.</p><p>“They weren’t shunted backwards and forwards between two powerful monarchs and used as their whipping boy!”</p><p>He tossed his barrow down by a large tent full of supplies: furs, food, makeshift weapons and the like.  Several people were waiting for them, each grabbing a skin of water before hurrying away.  Yarrow pursed his lips sulkily.</p><p>“If you can leave, why don’t you?  No point hanging about.  No need to grace us with your illustrious presence.”</p><p>“Petra said it was too risky.  I have to wait until tomorrow.”</p><p>“And if it’s too late by then?  She did tell you that the longer you stay in this world, the harder it will be to get back to your own, right?  The circle is less likely to accept you.”</p><p>Geralt’s face must have given away that Petra had told him no such thing.</p><p>“Oh, she <em> didn’t </em>!  Of course not!  It’s more important to show up the King by having him miss his payment, than to make sure you get home safely.  Well, she’s always been a conniving bitch.”</p><p>The malicious glee on Yarrow’s face wounded Geralt to the core.  No face that looked so much like his bard’s should take such delight in his misfortune.  He wanted to punch it.  Beat it until it no longer looked so much like Jaskier’s.  Until Jaskier’s face stopped looking at him with such derision.</p><p>He turned his head, unable to bear the sight of Yarrow any longer.</p><p>“Look,” Yarrow sounded a little more sympathetic.  “I’m sorry if I’m offending you with my observations.  We’re not very socialized down here.  But your situation sucks, and you’re the only person here with any hope of anything better.  Forgive me if I hate you for that.</p><p>“But, that being said.  It would be extremely shitty of me not to help you out when you’ve got a fucking chance.  I know how to get to one of the stone circles from here.”</p><p>“Petra,” Geralt noted.</p><p>“Would sacrifice any chance you had of escaping in a heartbeat, to get one over on the Fae.  You can wait for her and Blue to pull their heads out their arses and hope it’s not too late, or you can meet me in half an hour at the tunnel entrance near where we talked by the river.  The choice is yours.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>
  <em> The lady makes an almighty racket when she discovers the scissors in her son’s crib.  She screams loudly that it is a threat.  Someone is out to kill her son, snatch him from her.   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hanna thinks this is a bit rich coming from the lady who took her son outside for a picnic and then forgot to bring him home.  It was Hanna’s brother who’d found him, several hours later.  Julian had somehow made his way into the woods and was sleeping peacefully in a hollowed-out tree stump, cushioned by soft, fragrant smelling moss. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The lady wants the servants whipped until someone confesses, but the lord silences her with a stern look, and she sweeps away. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Later that day, when Hanna is tenderly stroking the soft brown fluff appearing on the top of Julian’s head, the lord comes to speak with her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I believe these are yours,” he holds out the scissors.  His voice doesn’t sound angry, but he looks grave. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hanna,” he crouches down so he can look her in the eye.  “I have no doubt of your unwavering affection for my son.  It’s why I’ve not stopped you visiting him.  But what were you thinking?  Scissors?  In his bed?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It’s for protection,” Hanna insists tearfully, clutching the scissors tightly to her chest.  “The Fair Folk want him.  He needs iron so they can’t get at him.  The scissors were all I could find.  Please don’t tell me mum.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The lord sighs and places a large hand on top of her head.  “Faeries?  Who’s been filling your head with such nonsense?  They’re old wives’ tales Hanna. They don’t exist.  Now, I won’t tell your mother about all this, but you’ll promise not to place any more scissors, or any other sharp implements, in my son’s bed.  Do we have an agreement?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hanna hesitates uneasily.  Without the iron, how will she protect Julian?  But if the lord tells her mum then Hanna won’t be allowed near the baby ever again, and her mum will thrash her.  She nods reluctantly. </em>
</p><p>* * *</p><p>Jack seemed to be warming to Jaskier.  By the time the pair of them reached their destination, they were whistling together, and Jack knew the tune to Fishmonger’s Daughter which they whistled with great delight.  Jaskier, meanwhile, had made a mental note of some lovely tunes Jack had whistled to him.  He was planning on shamelessly stealing them and creating some truly beautiful ballads when he got back home.</p><p>Being the non-talking type, Jack also showed themselves to be a truly superb listener, and Jaskier found himself unloading all his troubles with Geralt and Yennefer.  Jack whistled sympathetically at him. </p><p>“The thing is, I don’t think he even realises I love him.  I mean, I’ve not been hiding it, but he’s not the sharpest arrow in the quiver, if you get my meaning.”</p><p>Jack considered this and whistled a long and complicated reply.  Jaskier would swear he understood it though. </p><p>“You’re right.  I should tell him outright.  Lay it all out on the table and see what happens.  If he can’t accept my feelings, well…”</p><p>Jack let out an upbeat note, as if to reassure Jaskier that his affections would not be rejected.</p><p>Then the wisp put a finger to their pale lips, signalling that it was time to be quiet. </p><p>They crossed a stream, and then in the distance Jaskier could make out a loud and colourful camp.  Faeries were swarming amongst the trees, laughing and singing as all around them human servants quietly put up tents and served drinks.  Unlike the colourful faeries, the humans were dressed in drab, muted colours, as though to help them fade into the background and out of sight.</p><p>Jaskier looked down at his own bright turquoise and gold doublet.  There was no way he was going to be able to sneak in and pass for one the servants.  He’d just have to be upfront and bold instead.  Startle them into listening to him.</p><p>He straightened up, slid a hand through his hair and brought his lute around in front of him.  Giving Jack an encouraging smile, he brought his hand down and strummed a cheerful chord. </p><p>“Tell me a tale so beautiful that the stars will strain to hear.  The stories to be told, my child, are not for you to fear.”</p><p>He sang the opening lines of the song loudly, causing faery and human alike to look up and towards him.  He strode forward cockily, full of confidence he did not actually possess.  He knew this game.  How he felt mattered very little.  He had played cheerful drinking songs while depressed and morose.  He had blagged his way into many a court.  It was the performance that mattered more than anything and, in his soul, Jaskier was a true performer.</p><p>
  <em> ‘Sing me a city of cinnamon; </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sing me a manticore’s song. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I will give you beads of amber </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And feathers all of gold.’ </em>
</p><p>Jack followed silently behind Jaskier, gaining more than a few stares of their own.</p><p>As if by magic, the faeries parted without quarrel to let them through.  Baffled and bemused by this colourful, daring human and his obedient, fey companion.</p><p>
  <em> ‘Sing me a tale so beautiful </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That the stars will strain to hear. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The stories to be told, my love, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Are not for you to fear.’ </em>
</p><p>It was a whimsical song.  One of his first, based upon the stories his nanny used to spin to him at night, long ago.  Fantastical stories about other worlds.  Worlds where all the stories connected to another and overlapped.  Stories within stories within stories.  Magical, magnificent stories that Geralt would have despised and derided for not containing an iota of fact.  The witcher had never understood that fact was not the point of a good tale; the fantastical was.</p><p>The creatures around him liked it well enough.  They let him though unharmed until a magnificent lady came into view in the centre of the camp.  Jaskier almost stumbled, she was so beautiful.  Warm brown skin, dark hair braided with golden thread and green, mesmerizing eyes.  Her fingers were covered in gold rings and the tips of her fingers were tinged with green, much like the hollow of her throat and the shadow of her cheekbones.  White tattoos in the same pattern as the Horned God’s antler markings decorated her face and arms.</p><p>She needed no crown for Jaskier to know she was a <em> queen </em>.  He wanted to bow at her feet and touch his head to the ground before her.  He wanted to make offerings to her and swear himself into her service.</p><p>The gold of her rings caught his eye and brought to mind a pair of eyes a similar colour.  He fixed Geralt in his mind; dirty, surly, taciturn Geralt with his infrequent baths and grubby hair, and he kept playing.</p><p>
  <em> ‘So, sing me a city of wishes and fire </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sing me a travelling song. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I will give you worlds of wonder </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And a feather cloak to keep you warm.’ </em>
</p><p>He ended his song triumphantly, standing before her with a bright, confident smile plastered over his face.</p><p>She clapped her hands in delight.</p><p>“Bravo!”  Her voice was sweet and melodious.  “Bravo, my Buttercup! I always knew you would grow up to sing so beautifully!”</p><p>Buttercup.</p><p>The name pierced through his breast, into his very soul and he sat down suddenly, with a thump, by her feet.  He knew this magnificent queen.  Even though he could not remember how.  A word sprang unbidden to his lips.</p><p>“Mother.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Both songs in the chapter are by S.J. Tucker.  If you fancy listening to them then you can find them <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IFJ3ScrZ1sU">here</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwhWi2ai9cc">here.</a>  The second song is actually based on a series of books that I highly recommend if you like fantasy and lore.  It's <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Orphan%27s_Tales&gt;The%20Orphan's%20Tales&lt;/a&gt;%20by%20Catherynne%20M.%20Valente.%0A%0AIf%20you%20fancy%20finding%20me%20on%20tumblr%20then%20you%20can%20come%20say%20hi%20&lt;a%20href=">here!</a></p><p>If you fancy saying hi then you can find me <a href="https://dancinglassie.tumblr.com/">here</a> on tumblr.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Over park, over pale</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks again to my lovely beta reader <a href="https://willowherbgardens.tumblr.com/">Willowherb</a> and my wonderful artist <a href="https://help-idontknowwhattodraw.tumblr.com/">Aro</a> (who has made some truly stunning pieces for the final chapter, I can't wait to show you guys!).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Geralt was heartily sick of this forest.  He could not orient himself.  Every tree looked too strange and too similar to the one before it.  The sun filtered through the canopy, casting an eerie green glow over everything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t seem to bother Yarrow, who moved across the terrain gracefully and without concern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt still wasn’t sure if he’d made the right choice to go with this Jaskier lookalike.  But he wasn’t sure what would have happened if he’d stayed in the cave either.  The thought of being too late to get back, of being forever trapped in this hostile world, had compelled him to seek out Yarrow.  Despite the man making his skin crawl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head jerked at every sound and his eyes narrowed in suspicion at every passing shadow..  He just wanted out of here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He just wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It turned out when he thought of home, it was Jaskier’s face he thought of first.  Not Kaer Morhen.  Not Vesemir, Lambert or Eskel.  Not even Yennefer (and didn’t that answer his question over whether his love for her was real or djinn based).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier was home.  His singing, his chatter, his cheer and kindness.  Geralt ached for it.  For quiet nights by the campfire listening to Jaskier spin stories out of nothing with no one but the stars as witnesses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to gather Jaskier up into his arms and bury his face in his neck until this entire ordeal was nothing but a half-remembered nightmare.  He no longer wanted to resist the comfort Jaskier offered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His witcher’s hearing picked out footsteps making their way towards them.  He stopped suddenly and signalled to Yarrow.  The man paused, eyes narrowing in the direction Geralt pointed.  He cast his gaze around before quietly creeping towards a bush that he pulled aside to reveal a small hollow.  Silently, Geralt made his way over and they crouched together behind the foliage.  This close, Geralt got a nose full of Yarrow’s scent, and unlike the fresh scent of mint and rosemary which Geralt had come to associate with his bard, Yarrow smelt strongly of smoke and sweat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His blue eyes seemed to have a golden sheen in the dark, as he peered through the leaves at the five faeries just a short distance in front of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt kept his breathing quiet and his heart rate steady.  He knew how to outwait a predator.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cold metal kissed his neck and Yarrow’s arm wrapped around his chest while his other hand held a knife to the witcher’s throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry about this Julian,” he muttered into Geralt’s ear, his hot breath damp against his companion’s neck.  “It’s nothing personal.”  He stood up, and Geralt was forced to move with him or have his throat cut.  They burst through the bush in a scattering of leaves, instantly catching the faeries’ attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why? </span>
  </em>
  <span> Geralt wondered.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why do this?  Jaskier…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have your tribute,” Yarrow yelled loudly.  “Come any closer and I’ll slit his throat and then where will your king be?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That made them all freeze.  All the faeries had longbows, and all were drawn and pointed at the witcher.  Even if he broke out of Yarrow’s hold and ran, they’d shoot him in the leg, or somewhere non-vital, to slow his escape.  He ground his teeth together in helpless frustration.  He was trapped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want?” one of the faeries hissed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want an audience with King Ceoil.  I want to talk to my father.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hands carded gently through his hair as the Faerie Queen sat in the dirt next to him and made soothing noises.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My beautiful Buttercup.  I never thought I’d see you again, my darling, sweet boy.  My son.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he muttered.  Something wasn’t right.  He didn’t know this faerie.  He couldn’t be her son.  “Lady Pancratz…  She’s my mother.”  A distant and begrudging one, but his mother nonetheless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“None of that.”  Smooth hands cupped his cheeks, the gold rings resting coolly against his skin.  “She was never your real mother.  She never cared for you, loved you, the way I did.  The way I do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not the point,” he gasped.  Everything was fuzzy and swaying.  It was as though he was viewing the world while drunk.  He felt detached from his body.  When he raised his hands to her wrists, trying to push her off him, his limbs moved a few moments after his brain had sent the instructions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The queen tutted and settled herself more comfortably on the ground, propped against a tree stump, skirt spread out over her outstretched legs.  She pulled him down so that he was lying on the ground, head cushioned in her lap.  Fingers started playing with his hair again, and he was frozen in place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course it is.  She didn’t want you.  She resented your very existence.  She said so, often enough.  She lured us to you, practically gift-wrapped you.  I suppose in a way I can sympathise with her.  I know what it is to have a child you don’t want forced on you.  So, I fixed it all.  One unwanted child swapped for another.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was so sleepy.  The sun was hot above him, warming his doublet and burning his skin.  The way her fingers ran over his scalp felt so nice.  He couldn’t remember anyone ever taking the time to do this for him before.  Lovers liked to grip his hair, give it a sharp tug now and then, but they never stroked it lovingly like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were meant to be mine, sweetling.  I gave you a name.  I fed you my milk.  You were to be my perfect little prince.  You would never have wanted for anything.  My subjects would have doted on you.  That’s the life you would have had if that </span>
  <em>
    <span>little girl</span>
  </em>
  <span> hadn’t stolen you from me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind barely registered her words; everything was starting to drift away.  His eyelids felt so heavy.  He’d hardly slept the previous night and he’d got up so early.  He was tired; he wanted a nap.  Surely closing his eyes for a few moments wouldn’t hurt.  Not with this lovely queen looking after him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you’re back now, Buttercup.  You’ve made it back to me.  We’re together again.  You’re back where you belong.  Rest now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes fluttered, almost closing when a flash of blue caught his eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Something is not right.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Little Julian has done nothing but scream and cry for days.  Hanna has not been near the big house in a week, but her mum comes home with tales of him and the way he fusses.  The happy, cheerful baby appears to have changed overnight.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hanna fears the worst.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She sneaks in at night.  The cook always leaves the kitchen door unlocked when she’s there, and she often falls asleep in front of the fire after serving dinner.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The nursery, so cheerful in the day, looks sinister in the moonlight.  Angry gurgles, almost growls, emerge from the crib and Hanna steals herself to look in it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>An almost perfect copy of Julian stares back at her, but some things are off.  A baby should not be able to look cruel.  Should not be able to twist his lips in a tiny snarl, or glare at her with such hatred.  She remembers her grandmother’s stories and grabs the baby. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It wails, but no one comes running.  The imposter has exhausted all the adults with its demands today and they are dead to the world.  She stalks over to the fire and holds the baby over it.  Her arms tremble, but she keeps a firm hold.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Show me what you really are, or I’ll drop you in.”  She would too.  There is no doubt in her mind that this is not her Julian.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The baby screams louder, but still no one comes.  Its face twists in a snarl and it changes in her arms.  Its ears become pointed and its skin takes on a greenish tinge.  Blue eyes close and open gold.  Most horrifying of all, its little mouth opens and contains a full set of sharp, pointed little teeth.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She almost drops the thing in the fire.  Almost every part of her mind is screaming at her to drop the thing in the fire, apart from a tiny part that speaks in her grandmother’s voice.  She turns on her heel, changeling tucked securely under one arm as her other hand reaches for the fireplace poker. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She will not let her Julian be taken.  She will get him back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That fucking bastard of a faery who had lured him into the stone circle using Jaskier’s shape cackled and danced in front of him.  Geralt’s hands had been roughly tied in front of him using coarse rope, and one of the faeries from the hunting party held the end that hadn’t been looped around his wrists.  At his back was Yarrow, knife still held threateningly against his neck.  Though it seemed a greater threat to the faeries than it did to him.  They watched every quiver of that knife nervously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever it was they wanted him for, he needed to be alive to do it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d led him back into the camp he’d originally fled, and it was obvious he hadn’t cleared nearly as much ground as he’d thought in his escape. He hated this fucking forest!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cheers had gone up as he was led in.  Though they died down when they saw the knife.  He and Yarrow had been left in the centre of the camp, surrounded by large canvas tents on all sides, as two of the faeries peeled off and ducked into the only grand looking tent amongst them.  While all the rest were an undyed whiteish colour, the biggest tent was a deep emerald with a gaudy gold trim decorating its walls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bastard faery which had impersonated Jaskier had waltzed out less than a minute later and laughed gleefully in Geralt’s face, even as it made sure to keep a safe distance away so as not to provoke Yarrow and his knife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Little human thought it could escape,” it sang as it did a little jig in a circle.  Its voice was high pitched and grating, an assault on Geralt’s ears.  “It thought it was being clever, but it put its trust in this little snake.”  It grinned nastily at Yarrow with its sharp teeth on full display, its golden eyes full of malicious glee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know why he trusted you little snake?  Bet you wondered why he was so easy to snare.  Bet you can’t guess why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yarrow growled.  “Fuck off, hobgoblin.  I won’t listen to your lies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The creature tsked and shook its head in mock sadness.  “Now, now.  I never lie.  You know that.  No need for lies when truths are so much more fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It shifted its shape in front of them, turning back into Jaskier.  Except Jaskier never looked at Geralt with such malevolence.  “He thought he was helping his friend.  Look familiar to you little snake?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The knife bit into Geralt’s skin as Yarrow tensed behind him.  A trickle of blood ran down Geralt’s neck.  Jaskier’s face laughed in delight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Robin,” a stern voice called out.  “Change back.  Stop upsetting our </span>
  <em>
    <span>distinguished </span>
  </em>
  <span>guests.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The creature did so, but Geralt’s attention was drawn to the tall lithe faery striding towards him.  He was at least two and a half metres tall, with pale skin decorated in blue, swirling tattoos.  Long, white blonde hair was braided away from his face and decorated with emeralds, while resting on his brow was an intricate silver circlet.  His grey eyed gaze was fixed on Geralt with something like elation and his smile showed off sharp, perfectly white teeth that gleamed in the sunlight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, my King,” Robin bowed and stepped to the side.  It was just Yarrow, Geralt and the King standing in the centre now.  The other faeries formed a loose circle around them from the edges of the camp but kept a respectful distance from the action.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve taken the trouble to return my tribute to me,” the Faerie King smiled benignly.  “What, pray, do you want for him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Geralt couldn’t see, but Yarrow was pressed close enough to his back that he could feel him gulp nervously.  The hand holding the knife was trembling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want what is owed to me.  I want your acknowledgement.”  Yarrow’s voice was raspy and quiet but King Ceoil seemed to hear him perfectly clearly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing is owed to you. You are not one of us,” Ceoil waved a hand dismissively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am your trueborn son!”  Yarrow shouted this time, making himself heard throughout the camp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And your mother abandoned you in the human world.  She let it taint you.  Turned you into a Changeling.  You were no longer my son after that.  It does not matter to me that you were traded back.  That human stink will never leave you.  Having you spend half of the year in my court was the only punishment my </span>
  <em>
    <span>darling</span>
  </em>
  <span> Queen could bestow upon me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So… Wait.  Did that mean Jaskier wasn’t a Changeling?  Did that mean he was the original human child?  Had there been a swap back?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am a prince!” Yarrow insisted shrilly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> a prince,” Ceoil shook his head airily.  Unconcerned about the man losing his grip on reality in front of him.  “It’s not my fault your mother has a sick fascination with humans.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one who decided she’d rather have a little human princeling over you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack flared his blue eyes at him.  Flames dancing in alarm.  That gaze cut through the fog swamping Jaskier’s mind and he sat bolt upright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!”  He struggled to his feet, tripping over his own legs in his haste to put some distance between himself and the bewitching Queen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her beautiful face twisted angrily as she rose gracefully to face him.  She shot a poisonous look at Jack, but Jaskier placed himself in front of the wisp protectively.  It didn’t seem like she wanted to hurt him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sit down, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Buttercup</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she ordered, and he could feel the compulsion in her voice trying to gain a foothold in his mind.  He shook his head defiantly.  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Julian</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sit down,” she tried again and Jaskier laughed.  That hadn’t been his name for many years.  He’d willingly shed it on the road to Posada, in search of fame and adventure.  She may have given him a name when he was small, but he was a self-created man.  He’d chosen his own damned name.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not here to stay,” he told her firmly.  “I’m here for my friend.  Your husband stole him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hissed like an angry cat.  “Do not speak of that filthy degenerate, Buttercup.  He has no place in my court.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If he’s so foul then help me rescue my friend.  Herne said you could help me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes alighted on his oak leaf crown.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have already come across my father then, Buttercup.  Tell me, did he tell you what will happen to your friend tonight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing will happen to him,” Jaskier told her firmly.  “I’m going to rescue him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed at him.  “He didn’t, did he?  Sit down Buttercup, I have an </span>
  <em>
    <span>amusing </span>
  </em>
  <span>story to tell you.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It concerns a King.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He made many false promises to a fair and kind Queen.  He won her over with sweet words until she agreed to marry him, but after the wedding he soon showed her his true nature.  They spent many years apart, because the Queen could not bear to be in his presence for any longer than necessary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In revenge, he got his odious little hobgoblin, Robin, to play a trick on her.  He had her drugged with a lust potion and locked in a room with an abomination.  Half man, half bull.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier felt sick.  He had a good idea where this was going. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He spread word throughout the Aes Sidhe about what happened.  He made her a laughingstock, but he was a fool.  He forgot how powerful the Queen’s father was.  The Horned God threatened to rip him limb from limb, then sew him back together and start again.  And he could do it.  He’d spend the rest of his long life being ripped apart and clumsily put together.  How I would love to watch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But the Horned God has one weakness.  He loves a good hunt, and so the King offered to pay him tribute once each year.  A mortal victim for the Hunter to chase and devour.  That’s what will happen to your precious friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier shook.  He felt unexpectedly betrayed.  Herne had not mentioned anything about hunting Geralt, despite knowing who had taken him and for what purpose.  At his back, Jack placed a comforting hand against his spine.  Lending him some strength. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if I rescue him?” he croaks.  “What will happen to the odious King if he fails to pay Herne his tribute?  Would your father rip him apart as originally planned?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Queen looked at him with pity.  “It is too dangerous Buttercup.  I would not lose you again.  Not when we have finally been reunited.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to rescue him,” he spoke with bravery born of desperation.  “With or without you.  I’m not the sweet little baby you apparently stole.  I’m my own man now, and I’m going to rescue Ger- my friend,” he corrected himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re adorable Buttercup,” she smiled at him fondly.  “You think after the time you spent here, you’re a man?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The breath was stolen from his lungs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I fed you, named you and claimed you.  That makes you one of us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nope.  No, no, no! </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They don’t look like one of you.”  He gestured with his chin to one of the human servants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Queen dismissed his argument with a wave of her hand.  “They weren’t claimed by </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  They outgrew their owners.  You were different.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jaskier didn’t believe her.  She might very well have believed what she was saying, but he suspected it was bullshit.  What would have happened if he’d stayed here?  Would she have persevered when he went through his awkward gangly phase?  He suspected that she would  eventually have tired of him, and then he would have been shoved into the drab clothes worn by all the humans around him.  Just another servant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whoever it was that had rescued him all those years ago, it seemed he owed them a world of gratitude.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter now.  If you’re not willing to help me then just tell me, but you can’t keep me here.  I’m leaving.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned and began walking away, hoping his rapid heartbeat could not be heard by the Queen.  Hoped she wouldn’t call his bluff.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was almost at the nearest line of trees when he heard her call to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unseen by her, he smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something wet was falling onto the back of Geralt's neck.  Tears, he realised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll kill him,” Yarrow cried, and his voice was thick with grief.  “I’ll slit his throat, and then where will you be?  What will you do without your tribute to the Horned One?  He’ll hunt you down instead, like a pathetic animal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Ceoil’s face turned cold.  “You won’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The faeries who had sneaked up behind Yarrow while he was distracted by the King, grabbed the Changeling’s arms and forced the knife away from Geralt’s throat.  Before he had a chance to make a dash for it, another grabbed the witcher and forced him to his knees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It turned out the Fae had strength enough to match a witcher’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tie the disgrace up and dump him somewhere,” Ceoil sneered down at the struggling Yarrow.  “We can deal with him tomorrow.  He pinned Geralt with his unsettling gaze.  “I want an armed guard watching this one at all times.  Someone get some rope for his ankles while you’re at it.  We can’t have my precious tribute escaping again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The King turned and sauntered back into his tent while Robin approached Geralt gleefully, rope in hand.  On the ground beside him, Yarrow sobbed.  Geralt couldn’t help but feel slightly sorry for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like everyone else, he too preferred Jaskier over Yarrow.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So... who saw that coming?</p>
<p>You can find me <a href="https://dancinglassie.tumblr.com/">here</a> on tumblr if you fancy saying hi!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Thorough flood, thorough fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The final part of my <a href="https://geraskiermidsummerminibang.tumblr.com/">midsummer mini bang fic</a>.  It's been really fun to take part in this event!</p><p>I'd like to thank <a href="https://willowherbgardens.tumblr.com/">Willowherb</a> for being my beta reader!</p><p>And a huge thank you to the amazing <a href="https://help-idontknowwhattodraw.tumblr.com/">Aro!</a>  She was only required to do one piece of art, but she did eight beautiful pictures!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> She stands before the Faerie Queen, straight and tall.  She may be dirty, tired and hungry, but she will not back down before this beautiful, majestic lady.  Not when she sits before Hanna, feeding Julian at her breast.  The changeling mews pathetically in Hanna’s arms, but it has learnt not to trifle with her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>  </em>
</p><p><em> All the way here </em> <em> , </em> <em> it had resisted.  When she had stepped into the stone circle </em> <em> , </em> <em> it had tried to bite her.  She had pressed the tip of the iron poker to one of its tiny feet.   </em></p><p>
  <em> It had tried to alert predators to their presence in the woods as Hanna searched.  She had left it as an offering on the ground and climbed a tree. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Nothing could dissuade her from her goal.  Not it; not this Fair Lady. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>  </em>
</p><p><em> “I’ve come for the child you stole,” her voice does not waver.  “I have come to return the one you </em> <em> left in his place. </em> <em> ” </em></p><p>
  <em> The queen eyes the bundle in Hanna’s arms with distaste.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “A child I did not want in exchange for the beautiful little babe in my lap?  Hardly an appealing proposition.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The faeries around her titter.  The Queen gestures to the picnic spread out in front of them.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “But you have done well to make it here, to me.  You must be hungry.  Sit, eat and rest.  We can discuss business afterwards.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s a tempting trap, but the Queen should have done more to hide the humans in her retinue.  They stand a little apart from the faeries, heads bowed and holding platters and carafes, ready to leap forward and serve at a single gesture.  Hanna will not allow herself to be bound here like them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I want the baby you stole, nothing more.” </em>
</p><p><em> “But why?” the Faerie Queen asks impatiently.  “You are not his mother, or sister.  Why go </em> <em> to </em> <em> alll this trouble?  Do you care for the little darling?  If so, you should leave him here.  He’ll be a prince.  I can give him far more than his mortal family ever could.  Immortality, elegance, beauty, music, a kingdom, a crown and a mother’s love. </em></p><p><em> “Your lady </em> <em> cannot </em> <em> even give him the last.  She does not want him.  Don’t try and deny </em> <em> it; I </em> <em> watched her.  How better for her to have that thin</em><em>g. T</em><em>hey match in temperament and character.” </em></p><p>
  <em> “He’s your child,” Hanna insists stubbornly.  “The one you currently hold is not.  I demand you return him to me.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “A child my deceitful brute of a husband tricked upon me,” the Queen hisses, not quite so beautiful now.  “I don’t want that one.  I don’t want to see him everyday and be reminded.  I want this one.  You think he can just return easily to your pathetic world?  He’s drunk my milk, been fed the sweet morsels you see before you.  I’ve named him.  Even if I let you leave with him, he’ll be changed.  He’s not quite human anymore.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You may not want one this one,” Hanna raises the poker.  “But will you let him be hurt?” </em>
</p><p><em> “What do you want, you obstinate girl?” the Queen pleads.  “I can give you gold and jewels.  Good food and palaces.  I </em> <em> can </em> <em> ensure you </em> <em> live </em> <em> a long life of luxury, love and contentment.  All I want is this child.” </em></p><p>
  <em> “And that’s all I want as well.”  She presses the poker to the changeling’s cheek, and it wails as a raised, red mark blooms on its face.  Hanna looks at the Queen defiantly.  The faeries all around them hiss and squirm, looking pleadingly at the Queen.  She could refuse.  Let Hanna kill the faery babe in her arms.  But what will her subjects make of that? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Fine,” the Queen hisses.  “You win.” </em>
</p><p>* * *</p><p>“You have the same fire as that <em> little girl </em>.”</p><p>Jaskier schooled his expression to one of polite interest before he turned round to face the Queen again.</p><p>“What little girl?”</p><p>“A little servant girl.  You had her wrapped around your pudgy little fingers.  She’s the one who came to find you after I rescued you.”</p><p>There had been many servant girls surrounding him as he grew up, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of one who’d been particularly fond of him.  At least, none until he was quite a lot older.</p><p>“She was so passionate,” and the Queen had a wistful look in her eyes.  “It was such a shame that she won.  She’d have made a lovely addition to my court.  I still go and see her now and then.”  A childish pout crossed her face.  “She never lets me in, and she grew up so lovely too!”</p><p>Jaskier had no idea how to respond to that, so he decided to drop the subject.  He supposed, once all this was over, he could take a trip back to Lettenhove. Someone there would be able to shed some light on this story and wouldn’t extract too high a price for it.</p><p>“Your husband,” he prompted. The Queen’s expression soured instantly.</p><p>“Ego,” her lip curled.  “That’s how you beat him.  Don’t try to fight him. His guards will stab you in the back while he distracts you. And don’t try and sneak in to free your friend; he’ll be well guarded.  You need to insult Ceoil’s pride.  Force him to defend his honour.”</p><p>Her gaze fell upon his lute.  “Music, my sweet Buttercup, is one of the many magics employed by the Fae.  None can play sweeter than us, except for those in love.”</p><p>His breath hitched and her clever eyes pinned him to the ground on which he stood.  She could see straight into his heart. </p><p>“<em> Friends </em>do not risk the Aes Sidhe.  Only those with true love in their hearts are brave and stupid enough to do that.”</p><p>“So,” Jaskier’s voice cracked.  “I just stroll into the King’s camp and challenge him to a music contest?”</p><p>She laughed.  “Essentially.  Insult him, Buttercup.  Imply how inferior his talent is to yours.  He won’t be able to resist the chance to prove you wrong.  But make sure, when you play, that it’s a song from the heart.  Nothing less will win against him.  Can you do it, Buttercup?  Can you lay your heart out in the open for everyone to see?”</p><p>“Yes,” he croaked.  “For <em> him </em>, I can.”</p><p>She nodded, and took a golden, flower shaped ring from her elegant hand and gave it to him.</p><p>“A bit of protection for you Buttercup.  It will get you safely into Ceoil’s camp.” </p><p>He slid it onto his left pinky, throat tight with too many emotions.  She crossed the ground towards him, and he did not stop her.  She was slightly taller and she reached to tilt his head up so she could bestow a final kiss on his brow.</p><p>“I am so glad I’ve seen you again Buttercup.  Even if only for a short while.”</p><p>“Thank you,” he sniffed, feeling tears gather at the corner of his eyes.</p><p>Jack’s fingers slipped into his own, and he tugged Jaskier away and back into the trees.</p><p>* * *</p><p>
  <em> There is a search party looking for them when Hanna returns.  The lady screams that Hanna should be beheaded for kidnapping her son.  The lord snaps back that he won’t be told how to rule his own land, but he looks angry. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “The faeries took him,” Hanna tries to explain.  “I had to get him back.” </em>
</p><p><em> Her mother </em> <em> wallops her harshly o </em> <em> ver the head, grabbing Julian from her arms and passing him to the lord. </em></p><p>
  <em> The lord says nothing, just gives Hanna a disappointed look and sweeps away, telling her mother that they will deal with it in the morning. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hanna doesn’t find out what he would do to her.  Her mother sends her away that night, to her aunt in Oxenfurt.  She won’t risk her only daughter. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She never sees little Julian again. </em>
</p><p>* * *</p><p>The sun was low in the sky by the time they approached King Ceoil’s camp.  They hadn’t stopped since leaving the Queen.  Jaskier had bolted down some of the bread and cheese Martha had packed for him while he walked.  He had to get to Geralt before sunset, and if he saw Herne on his way he was going to give the god a piece of his mind.</p><p>He had no idea how he was going to provoke Ceoil into engaging in a little musical competition, but he’d work it out when he got there.  He’d certainly managed to rile less touchy sounding individuals into throwing a punch at him in the past.  Geralt said it was a gift he had.</p><p>It was a much more sombre walk than the one to see the Queen.  Time was running out, and for once Jaskier did not complain about the brisk pace he was forced to maintain.</p><p>He didn’t realise he and Jack had been surrounded until the faeries melted out of the trees around them, arrows pointed straight at Jaskier’s heart.</p><p>He heard nasty laughter drawing closer and then caught sight of an ugly looking faerie prancing ridiculously towards him.  With his spiky green hair, and green stained skin, he looked more moss than man.  Golden eyes, such a familiar colour, gleamed cruelly at him.</p><p>“This is too good!” the creature chortled.  “I can’t wait to see the little snake’s face when he gets a look at you!  What are you doing here little human princeling?  Here to rescue someone?  He never hinted that <em> you </em> might come after him<em>.” </em></p><p>Fast as a falcon diving at its prey, he shot forward and tried to grab Jaskier’s arm.  He was thrown backward the moment his hand made contact with Jaskier’s doublet.  On Jaskier’s pinky, the ring hummed.</p><p>Groaning, the creature clambered back to his feet, a ferocious scowl planted firmly across his face.  “I see Queen Mabd has been with you.  Never mind.  You’ll come with us anyway, won’t you little flower?”</p><p>Jack was a tense line plastered to his side.  Jaskier wrapped an arm protectively around them.  He would not let anything happen to the wisp on his watch.</p><p>“Lead the way,” he spat through clenched teeth.</p><p>They were marched with a faery guard into the heart of the King’s camp.  The breath caught in Jaskier’s throat.  There, tied up on the ground, was Geralt!  His witcher looked <em> awful</em>.  Grubby and disheveled, despair radiating from him.  Geralt’s eyes widened when he caught sight of Jaskier, and a flash of hurt shot through the bard when the witcher shook his head frantically in denial, protest muffled under the gag that had been shoved unceremoniously into his mouth.</p><p>“Look who I found, little snake.”</p><p>Jaskier was really beginning to loathe the green haired faery.  He had been so focused on Geralt and his desperate looks that he hadn’t registered the bound figure slumped next to him.  The man winced as the faery kicked him sharply in the ribs.  He looked up and the world froze as blue met blue and two sets of the same eyes widened.</p><p>“It’s the little thief who stole your rightful place.  Though I suppose it could be argued that you stole his.  It gets so confusing, doesn’t it?”</p><p>His doppelganger snarled, inarticulate with rage as Jaskier stared numbly at him in disbelief.  That… thing had his face, or at least a scarred, worn down version of it.</p><p>“Fuck you, Robin.  You think you can distract me with <em> him</em>?  I don’t care about him.  He’s nothing to me!  But I swear, when I get out of here, I’ll be taking your head with me.  And it won’t be attached to your body.  I’ll hollow it out and let each and every one of the stolen humans take a piss in it!”</p><p>So, this was Robin, the hobgoblin who had drugged the Queen.  Jaskier was inclined to agree with his lookalike’s plan.  If he could, he’d help.</p><p>Robin’s ugly face twisted menacingly, and he kicked the man again, and again, and again, until he was wheezing and spluttering into the mud.  Jaskier stepped forward, hand with the ring raised threateningly. </p><p>“Stop it, or I’ll boot you into a tree again!”</p><p>Robin turned to him with his teeth bared.</p><p>“Robin,” a commanding voice called.  “Leave him be!”</p><p>Jaskier turned to see a faery who could only be King Ceoil striding towards them.  Robin backed away reluctantly and Jaskier wasted no time in placing himself between the two trussed up figures and the rest of the Fae.</p><p>“So,” the King regarded him coolly. “You’re the whelp my wife was so besotted with she took you and replaced you with our own son?”</p><p>“And you’re the rapist who made her resent her child enough to swap us,” Jaskier fired back.  Behind him Geralt groaned.</p><p>The King’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but before he could respond, a familiar, booming laugh cut across the camp.</p><p>“He has you there.”  Herne strode into view with the hunting party, large antlered head shaking with mirth.  He ignored Jaskier’s glare and squatted a short distance away.  “Don’t mind us, we’re early.  Tell me, <em>Ceoil,</em>” he spat the King’s name.  “Which one of these is supposed to be my tribute?  It can’t be this little lark; he wears my favour and my daughter has bestowed gifts upon him.  That other one with his face stinks of Fae, so it can’t be him.  It must be the old one.  I sense a disappointing hunt ahead of me.” </p><p>Jaskier bared his teeth in anger on behalf of Geralt.  Herne winked at him.</p><p>“He is not your prey!  None of you have any claim on him!  Not you and certainly not this talentless wastrel of a king!”</p><p>Ceoil drew himself up in anger, but Herne spoke first, and the King didn’t dare interrupt him.</p><p>“Who does have a claim on him then, Dandelion?”</p><p>“I do!”</p><p><em> What? </em>  Where had that come from?  Jaskier hadn’t meant to say that.  “I gave him a name, and it’s known throughout the Continent.  Before me , he was the Butcher. Now he is the White Wolf.  He owes his reputation to <em> me </em> .  He is <em> mine </em>.”</p><p>He didn’t dare turn and check what Geralt thought of his claim.  He didn’t think he’d ever be able to look the witcher in the face again.</p><p>“Hmm…” Herne mockingly considered this.  “He makes a good point, Ceoil.  It seems you're trying to give me a human that’s not yours to give.”</p><p>“The boy talks nonsense!” Ceoil spat.  “He is not Fae.  He cannot claim the human.”</p><p>“I’m Fae enough,” Jaskier refuted, because what other choice did he have?  “Your own wife named and fed me.  But if that isn’t enough for you then I propose a competition.”  He brought his lute forward.  “I’ll play you for him.”</p><p>Everyone turned to look at him.  Herne cackled joyfully as the King, red faced with rage snarled, “<em>Fine. </em>”  He snapped his fingers and Robin sprinted to an elegant tent before returning with a fiddle in hand.  It was a thing of delicate beauty.  The sight of it made Jaskier want to weep with envy.  It was carved from the finest of woods and was strung with silver strings.  It almost seemed to glow.</p><p>“I shall judge this little competition.” Herne fixed each of them with a stern look.  “I swear on my Horns that I will not be biased.  My decision is final.  Understood?”  They both nodded.  “Then Ceoil shall go first.”</p><p>The King raised the fiddle to his shoulder and tucked it neatly under his chin in a well-practiced move.  He lifted his bow, adjusted his fingers over the neck of the instrument, and began to play.</p><p>
  
</p><p>The song was <em> beautiful </em>.  Except that didn’t do it justice.  It was played with such finesse and elegance that all of Jaskier’s music masters would have wept at their own ineptitude. Jaskier had never before heard such proficiency and grace, and he was frozen, mesmerized until the last note faded into silence. Tears glistened on his cheeks.</p><p>The entire camp was spellbound.  Slowly, Ceoil lowered his bow, a smug smile on his lips.</p><p>“Very nice,” Herne admired.  “Your turn, Dandelion.”</p><p>How was he supposed to compete with <em> that</em>?  Jaskier could practice twelve hours a day for a hundred years and never hope to come anywhere close.  He’d doomed them all.  Geralt was going to be killed because of him.  Ripped apart in this farce. </p><p>A warm body pressed against his legs, and he looked down on instinct.  Geralt had crawled over to him and pushed himself against the bard in silent support.  Jaskier allowed himself a moment to memorise those eyes.  The eyes he’d fallen in love with at the young age of eighteen and adored ever since. </p><p>
  
</p><p>He took a deep breath and fixed an image in his mind: him and Geralt, holding hands next to a fire as the stars sparkled overhead, just for them.</p><p>He raised his hand and strummed his opening chord.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘The stars, forever unchanging, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They guide us on paths unseen. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And you were written in my story, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Destined to collide with me. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em> ‘They say you stole me in moonlight, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But Love, I was already yours, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For we were written in the starlight, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> As the wolf belongs to the moon.’ </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>It wasn’t a complicated song.  There were large gaps between some of the chords, filled only by his voice.  But when he sang, he sang from the heart.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘Like the rain meets the river, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Like the trees meet the sky, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We were born to be together, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You and I. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em> ‘Like the fish need the water, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Like the birds need the sky, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We were made to need each other, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You and I.’ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He laid himself bare before the crowd.  He sang with the love he felt shining clearly through his words.  There was no way Geralt would be able to misunderstand him or doubt his affections now.  He had dropped all pretenses and all emotional protections.  Once this was over, assuming they survived, there would be a conversation neither one could put off.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ‘Like the rain loves the thunder, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Like the waves kiss the sky, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We were born to love each other, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You and I. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em> Like the fire consumes the timber, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Like the flames kiss the sky, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We were made to be together, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You and I. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em> The stars, forever unchanging, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They guide us on paths unseen </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And you were written in my story, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Destined to collide with me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Destined to collide with me. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>His last chord faded away.  He had his eyes closed and couldn’t see his audience’s reaction, but he felt Geralt trembling against his legs.</p><p>“Well,” Herne’s voice was thick with emotion.  Jaskier opened his eyes a fraction and saw tears pooling down the god’s dark tattooed cheeks.  “I say Dandelion wins.” </p><p>Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat, and he could feel his knees threatening to give way.  He’d won?</p><p>“<em>No! </em>” the King protested wildly.</p><p>“<em>Yes! </em>” Herne boomed, and his lips curled away from his teeth in a truly terrifying smile.  “And it’s sunset Ceoil.  Where is my tribute?”</p><p>The sun was indeed sinking behind the horizon.</p><p>Jaskier wasted no time.  He dropped to his knees, fishing the iron dagger Martha had given him from his boot, and sawed through the ropes on Geralt’s legs and hands.  Robin had been making his way towards him, intent on stopping him, but he froze at the sight of the iron dagger.</p><p>As Geralt tore the gag from this mouth, Jaskier moved quickly towards his double.  He could hear the King shouting behind him, trying to make promises and deals. </p><p>He slashed through the second set of ropes and the two of them looked at each other.</p><p>“Give me the dagger,” his double hissed at him.  “The hobgoblin will chase you; he is nothing without his master.  I’ll keep him distracted.  I owe him a few scars.”  Jaskier hesitated only briefly, more due to the strangeness of hearing his own voice talking to him than anything else, then thrust the dagger towards the man. </p><p>He could sense Geralt rising to his feet behind him and reached out a hand blindly to him.  Calloused fingers interlocked with his own as a hunting horn echoed throughout the darkening night.</p><p>Faeries scattered as an animalistic snarling sound came from where Jaskier had last seen Herne.  A fair haired figure dashed past Jaskier, and he could just make out it was the king, before a dark, feral shape bounded after him and into the forest.</p><p>Jack whistled in alarm, a warning sound, and Jaskier dived to the side with Geralt as Robin leapt at his back with unbridled fury.  His doppelganger met him halfway and the two creatures fell in a kicking, scratching, biting heap on the ground until Robin’s high pitched voice screeched in agony.  It seemed the dagger was being put to good use.</p><p>Jack grabbed Jaskier’s free hand and dragged him and Geralt into the woods.  They whistled a complex set of instructions and pointed them in a certain direction.  Jaskier paused only briefly to wrap an arm around the wisp in gratitude.</p><p>“Thank you,” he told them sincerely.  “Thank you so much, for all your help.”</p><p>The wisp gave one final whistle then shrank down until it was just a wisp of white smoke with tiny, flaming blue eyes.  Then it darted away.</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt said hoarsely, as if he’d not had a drink in many hours.  “We need to get out of here.”</p><p>No arguments there.  Still holding hands, they set off in the direction Jack had indicated to them.  Towards the standing stones.  Behind them, a group of disheveled faeries gave chase.</p><p>* * *</p><p><em> Mabd circles the forest hut, but it remains as barred to her as ever.  A horseshoe hangs over the doorway and each window, glinting in the setting sun.  The stink of the iron </em> <em> makes her w</em><em>rinkle her nose, even as she lobs a stone at the door. </em></p><p>
  <em> A familiar woman opens it, but she doesn’t step through.  She never does.  She leans in her doorway, raises an eyebrow at the Faery Queen and waits.  She always waits and she never leaves the protection offered by the iron. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mabd has tried every charm, every trick, every promise and still this woman will not be moved.  She’s gone down on her knees and pleaded, but the woman has a heart of iron and Mabd cannot make it bend to her will. </em>
</p><p><em> “I have come to make you an offer,” Mabd starts as she has always done (ever since she realised how well that stubborn little girl </em> <em> had grown </em> <em> up). </em></p><p>
  <em> “My answer is still no.  I have no interest in coming in between you and that jealous husband of yours.  I do not need the gift of foresight to know how that will end for me.” </em>
</p><p><em> Mabd’s lips twist in a bitter smile.  She’s been receiving this answer for years.  Originally, she had just wanted to lure the girl out, so she could spirit her away and punish her for daring to win against her.  Mabd takes losing badly, though many claim she takes winning even worse.  That had changed though, over time, and now Mabd finds herself, once more, wanting something that is constantly being denied her.  She wants the </em> <em> woman </em> <em> in her palace.  To hold, love and cherish. </em></p><p><em> But she is patient, she is clever, and above all she knows when to grab an opportunity when it </em> <em> presents itself. </em></p><p><em> “He will not be an issue any longer.  His tricks have finally caught up </em> <em> with </em> <em> him.  I find myself quite available.” </em></p><p>
  <em> The woman in the doorway looks startled at the change in their routine exchange.  She twists a greying, dirty blonde lock around her fingers, unsure what to do.  She remains firmly within her doorway. </em>
</p><p><em> Mabd edges forward cautiousl</em><em>y; </em> <em> she can feel the iron pushing at her, trying to force her to turn back. </em></p><p>
  <em> “I once made you an offer.  I offered you gold and jewels.  Good food and palaces.  I told you I could ensure you lived a long life of luxury, love and contentment.  All I wanted was the child.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The woman stares at her warily.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I don’t want the child any longer, but do you still want him safe?  Do you still want him in this world?” </em>
</p><p><em> The air ripples next to Mabd as she conjures an image of Buttercup and his friend, running frantically towards the stone circle on the hill.  The woman recognises the trees they’re </em> <em> racing through. </em> <em>   She knows that there </em> <em> are </em> <em> none of that kind left in this world. </em></p><p><em> “Our child has some interesting friends.  This one got him into a whole heap of trouble.  They </em> <em> may </em> <em> make it to the stone circle, but you know Buttercup can’t so easily pass through.  He’s eaten faerie food.  The only way he can cross </em> <em> back is if a powerful faerie allows it.” </em></p><p>
  <em> The woman gulps, staring at the brown-haired man in wonderment, greedily drinking in the sight of him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She looks into Mabd’s eyes with the same fierce determination she’d shown when she was ten.  That she’s shown at every meeting hence.  Mabd has fallen in love with that stare. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What do you want?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’ll give you gold and jewels.  Good food and palaces.  I’ll ensure you live a long life of luxury, love and contentment.  I’ll guarantee the escape of our boy and his friend.  All I want in return, dear Hanna, is you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She holds out a hand to Hanna.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hanna takes a deep breath, steps out her door and takes it. </em>
</p><p>* * *</p><p>Before them, the stone circle loomed.  Next to Geralt, Jaskier began to slow.  Exhaustion catching up with him as he panted for air.  Geralt tightened his grip on the bard’s hand and urged him to keep going.  They could not stop; they could not slow down.  Not when they were so close to freedom.  Not when Jaskier had risked so much to rescue him. </p><p>His bard had strolled fearlessly into the unknown, stood up to gods and royalty, all for Geralt.  He’d sung a song, a song the witcher had not heard before, but one that had lodged itself firmly in his heart.</p><p>Jaskier needed to keep going, because Geralt needed to tell him things.  Things he couldn’t appropriately express while they ran for their lives.</p><p>An arrow whizzed past Geralt’s ear.  He quickened his pace, dragging Jaskier with him.  They were almost there.  So close.</p><p>They sprinted, full pelt, into the circle of stones.  For one heart-crushing, fear-inducing moment, nothing happened.  Then there was that nauseating sensation of the world tilting on its axis and they were back in a familiar forest. </p><p>A bright, hot light sprang up suddenly before them.  A bonfire.  It was midsummer.  The local peasants had set up a bonfire by the circle to ward off evil spirits. </p><p>They were going too fast to stop in time.  They were in danger of tumbling straight into the flames.  He could feel Jaskier tensing next to him, as his legs bent in time with Geralt’s own.  As one, they leapt over the flames to the almighty cheers of the drunken villagers.</p><p>Geralt could feel the fire scorching him as something inside him burnt away.  A chain he had not realised he’d been wearing loosened, setting him free.  The djinn’s bond, he understood.  It was gone.  It floated like the soot from the fire carried away by the wind.</p><p>When his feet touched the ground and they continued running down the hill, he felt lighter than before.  Lighter than he’d been in years.</p><p>He couldn’t help it.  He laughed.</p><p>The sound made Jaskier stumble and the weight that suddenly put on his arm caused Geralt to lose his balance as well.  The pair of them tumbled to the ground, rolling gracelessly down the hill into the dark and silence. </p><p>Geralt landed on top of Jaskier with a thud, crushing the breath out of the bard.  He tried to get up, but their legs were tangled together, and he only succeeded in rising slightly before falling back down.</p><p>Jaskier huffed a breathless laugh into his neck.  Geralt could feel it tickling his skin.  Could smell the reassuring scent of Jaskier; rosemary and mint.  He could resist no longer, wanted to resist no longer.  Turning his head, he pressed a kiss onto Jaskier’s cheek. </p><p>The bard’s heart stuttered in his chest, pressed against Geralt’s own.</p><p>“Geralt?” he asked timidly.  Geralt didn’t like it.  Timidity did not suit Jaskier.</p><p>He pressed another kiss to the bard’s face, just at the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“Jaskier,” he sighed. </p><p>The bard boldly initiated the next kiss, lips sliding carefully over Geralt’s own.  They moved over each other, testing and exploring, until Geralt could no longer resist a proper taste and swiped his tongue over the bard’s warm lips.  Jaskier gasped sweetly below him.</p><p>But before they could take this any further, a pointed cough echoed through the night air.</p><p>Geralt glared at the old woman.  She raised an unbothered eyebrow at him as Jaskier slid from under Geralt and scrambled to his feet.</p><p>“Martha!” he cried happily.  “I did it!  I got him back.”  He strode towards the old woman and swept her up into a spine cracking hug, her feet lifted clean off the floor.</p><p>“I can see that you fool.  Put me down.”  But she smiled when Jaskier did so and straightened the oak leaf crown that was still perched haphazardly on his head.  “I’m glad it brought you luck.”</p><p>“Luck?” Jaskier laughed.  He made his way back to Geralt and hauled him to his feet, before fastening himself like a limpet to the witcher’s arm.  Geralt felt no need to prise him off.  “It bought me the favour of a god!  It set me on the path I needed to take to rescue Geralt!  It gave me everything!”</p><p>“You’re a loon,” Martha smiled fondly at him.  “But you’d best be getting back to Old Bessie’s hut if you’re planning to mess around with that strapping fellow you rescued.  Give it ten minutes and the woods will be swarming with the local youths looking for their own quiet place.”</p><p>Jaskier saluted clumsily and dragged Geralt away, back towards the village he’d left what seemed like an eon ago.</p><p>Their fingers remained entwined and the stars above them shone brightly in the clear sky.  </p><p>
  <em> ‘The stars, forever unchanging.’ </em>
</p><p>“Jaskier, that song…” </p><p>Jaskier stopped, head lowered to survey the ground before him.</p><p>“I meant it,” he murmured quietly.  Even Geralt’s witcher hearing strained to hear him.  “Every word.”</p><p>“Look at me, please?”  Jaskier raised his head, his cheeks flushed.  “I’m not good with words, but I need to say this to you now.  Before I lose my nerve.</p><p>“Jaskier, you give me affection so easily that I forget I need to earn it.  I forget to let you know I appreciate it.  Cherish it.  Because I do.  I need you to know that.  I never want you to doubt it because you are <em> home </em>to me.  No matter where we go, if you lay your head down next to mine, I am home.”</p><p>He found himself suddenly with an armful of bard as Jaskier lunged at him.  This kiss was not nearly as sweet as the previous ones.  It was <em> hungry, </em>as though Jaskier wanted to devour him whole.  Geralt couldn’t say that he objected to the prospect, but his stomach let out a loud rumble before he could take that idea any further.</p><p>Jaskier leaned away from him slightly to look down at the offending stomach.  “When did you last eat?” he asked in concern.</p><p>Too long ago.  He grabbed Jaskier’s hand once again and they continued to head back to the village.  Geralt thought he could stomach gooseberry pie now.  Something told him that the scent wouldn’t cause him so many problems in the future.</p><p>“Food first,” he decided.  “Then, if you’re willing, I’d like to show you some proper appreciation for my daring rescue.”</p><p>Jaskier’s gulp was clearly audible and caused Geralt’s mouth to twitch upwards into a lascivious grin.  Above them the stars continued to watch the pair.  Geralt tilted his head back to admire them properly in all their glory.</p><p>“Jaskier?”</p><p>“Yes Geralt?”</p><p>“You do know that the stars move across the heavens, right?  They’re not actually ‘forever unchanging’.”</p><p>“Poetic license, Geralt!  It’s poetic license!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The beautiful song Jaskier sang is <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1pC0TWg9F6Wwl7OmeuygjE?si=g-aCw2qmT3md_-q_bXnAnw">Destined by Karliene.</a></p><p>Hanna's story was inspired by a story book I read as a child about a young girl who rescues her mistress' son from faeries who swapped him for a changeling.  Can't for the life of me remember what the book was called, I just remember this really chilling picture of the changeling.  If you know what book it is then let me know!</p><p>EDIT: The amazing QT314 for has found it! It’s ‘A furl of fairy wind’ by Mollie Hunter and the changeling picture is even creepier than I remember! </p><p>I got the title from Heather Alexander's song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbEwUTjKwLU"> The Faery Queen</a> where a young woman challenges the Queen to contest to win back her lover.</p><p>I hope you enjoyed this story!  I definitely had great fun writing it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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